SALLY  NELSON  ROBINS 


A  MAN'S  REACH 


.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS 


OLD  SHINES  KEPT  TIME  WITH  HIS  EYELIDS,  AND   CALLED   OUT    THE    FIGURES   AT    THE 
TOP  OF  HIS  VOICE 

Page  88 


A  MAN'S  REACH 


BY 

SALLY  NELSON  ROBINS 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  COLOR 
BY 

EDMUND  FREDERICK 


•  Ah.  but  a  man's  reach  should  exceed  his  grasp. 
Or  wbat't  a  heaven  for  ?  " 

ROBERT  BROWNING'S 

"  Andrea  del  Sorto" 


PHILADELPHIA  AND  LONDON 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 
1916 


COPYRIGHT,  I9l6,  BY  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 


PUBLISHED   JANUARY,    1916 


PRINTED   BY  J.   B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

AT  THE  WASHINGTON  SQUARE  PRESS 

PHILADELPHIA,   U.  S.  A. 


TO  MY  FRIEND 

J.  BERG  ESENWEIN 

FOR  HIS  COUNSEL 

AND 
TO  MY  DAUGHTER 

RUTH  NELSON  ROBINS 

FOR  HER  PRAISE 

I  AFFECTIONATELY  AND  GRATEFULLY 
DEDICATE  THIS  BOOK 

THE  AUTHOR 


2132483 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGK 

OLD  SHINES  KEPT  TIME  WITH  Hra  EYELIDS,  AND  CALLED 
OUT  THE  FIGURES  AT  THE  TOP  OF  His  VOICE.    Frontitpiece 

YOUR  DEEDS  ARE  ALL  BEHIND 151 

"BE  CAREFUL  ABOUT  KITTY.  BILL-BOB."   251 


A  MAN'S  REACH 

PART  I 
I 

"  CHATTIE  has  a  baby — a  son !  "  was  the  pass- 
word, to  the  city  of  Bolingbroke  in  Virginia,  this 
January  afternoon;  and  Bolingbroke,  returning 
from  tea,  cards,  visits  or  business,  looked  at  the 
closed  blinds  of  the  gray  house  across  from  the 
"  Park  "  and  whispered  very  tenderly :  "  Dear 
Chattie,  I'm  so  glad,"  and  very  sternly:  "Ran 
must  turn  over  a  new  leaf  now." 

Charlotte  Turberville — Chattie  for  short — was 
the  darling  of  Bolingbroke. 

In  the  front  room  of  the  gray  house  blazing 
coals  cast  a  rich  glow  on  chintz  and  dimity,  em- 
phasizing the  still  joy  of  the  woman  in  the 
bed.  Charlotte  Turberville  was  alone — waiting. 
"  Mother  "  was  in  her  violet  eyes,  and  "  Little 
Babies  "  all  around  her  pretty  mouth.  She  could 
still  feel  the  sweet  breath  of  the  cradled  treasure, 
and  the  downy  softness  of  the  little  red  face. 
"  Nine  pounds,  twenty-one-inches-long, — perfect, 
wonderful!  "  If  Randolph  would  only  hurry  up 
— she  had  so  much  to  say — though  she  was  too 
weak  to  talk  this  morning.  It  was  too  good  to 

9 


10  A  MAN'S  REACH 

be  true,  this  tiny  bundle  of  love.  She  had  waited 
five  years  for  this  belated  little  savior.  How  could 
a  man  help  being  a  man,  with  his  son  looking  on  ? 

Every  five  minutes  the  "  trolley "  passed  the 
door,  each  time  it  stopped  she  whispered,  "  Ran," 
and  sighed  faintly  when  he  did  not  appear ;  but  she 
was  too  happy  now  to  mind  anything — her  son 
was  born. 

The  car  stopped  again,  the  front  door  opened 
and  closed  gently,  and  Ran  tiptoed  up,  but  she 
could  hear — funny  for  a  big  thing  like  Ran  to 
tiptoe ! 

The  six-foot,  broad-shouldered  father  unbolted 
the  door,  opened  it  a  little  and  squeezed  through — 
as  if  it  helped  things  to  squeeze — came  to  the  bed 
and  knelt  beside  it.  The  soft  light  increased  his 
peculiar  beauty,  dark,  and  finely  moulded. 

"  My  hands  are  so  cold  I  am  afraid  to  touch 
you,  Honey.  All  right  ?  "  His  smile  was  very 
tender. 

"  Thinking  of  James  Lane  Allen's  story  of  the 
little  mother  and  the  strawberries?  I  can't  re- 
member her  name — I  can't  remember  anything, 
hardly,  but  the  boy — our  little  Son-Boy."  She  put 
her  hand  on  her  husband's  head.  "  Aren't  you 
glad,  Daddy — isn't  it  wonderful  ?  " 

Something  strange  and  wonderful  overpowered 
Randolph  Turberville,  and  he  hid  his  face  in  the 
counterpane.  For  a  moment  he  was  sorry  for 


A  MAN'S  REACH  11 

everything;  but  he  did  not  like  the  feeling,  so 
he  stood  up  with  his  hands  deep  in  his  pockets  as 
if  to  steady  himself. 

"  Women  are  too  much  for  me;  last  night " 

"  Don't  mention  it,  Ran — I  would  go  through 
twice  as  much  for  Son-Boy.  You  didn't  want  him 
as  bad  as  I  did,  but  you're  glad  he  is  here — aren't 
you?" 

"  Awfully  glad."  For  a  moment  fatherhood 
was  unexpectedly  sweet. 

"  Go  in  the  nursery,  Ran,  and  look  at  him.  He 
gets  prettier  every  minute." 

She  must  not  be  crossed  to-night,  so  Ran  went 
into  the  next  room  and  talked  to  the  nurse  about 
his  son,  while  Chattie  smiled :  not  seeing,  she  still 
could  see  father  and  son,  strength  and  weakness, 
love  beholding  its  own  lost  innocence. 

In  a  few  moments  Ran  came  back  into  his  wife's 
room,  knelt  by  her  bed  and  took  her  lily-hand  in 
both  of  his  strong,  brown  ones. 

"  Oh,  darling,"  she  whispered,  her  lowered  lids 
fluttering  like  moth-wings. 

"  Sweetheart,  Saint  Charlotte ! "  Ran  almost 
sobbed,  he  felt  strangely,  abominably  strong  in 
the  face  of  such  patient  weakness.  Then  as  if 
ashamed  of  his  emotion  he  spent  it  in  a  long, 
pleading  kiss,  finally  returning  to  himself  with — 
"Pretty  red!" 

"  That  means  the  whitest  skin,  Silly !    Isn't  his 


12  A  MAN'S  REACH 

mouth  beautiful?  He  has  a  real  nose,  his  eyes 
flash,  and  his  ears  stick  to  his  head  like  tiny  pink 
shells.  His  body  is  perfect — suppose  it  wasn't! 
Nine  pounds  is  a  great  big  baby."  Charlotte 
sighed  for  happiness. 

"  Everybody  asked  after  you  to-day  and  sent 
love,"  Ran  longed  to  rhapsodize — he  was  trying 
his  best  to  please,  but  he  felt  that,  after  all,  he 
was  not  a  very  exultant  father. 

"You  told  his  name?" 

"  Of  course." 

"  The  tenth  Randolph  Turberville." 

"  Six  white,  and  three  black  sheep :  which  will 
he  be?" 

"Oh,  Ran!" 

"  I  was  a  baby  once,  Chattle." 

"  You  are  still  a  big  baby,  and  your  little  baby 
is  going  to  make  you  a  big  white  sheep,"  she 
smiled.  "  Oh,  we  are  going  to  be  so  happy." 

She  was  very  weak  and  her  voice  was  like  a 
flower-scented  zephyr  blowing  fitfully.  His  hands 
were  warm,  now;  and  he  took  hers,  chafed  them 
gently,  and  patted  her  cheek  to  warn  her  not  to 
talk  too  much. 

"  You  women !  So  happy  over  a  wrinkled 
beet."  Ran  was  really  a  little  happy,  too. 

"  He  means  so  much,  darling — my  Isaac — my 
Samuel — my  John — your  Christ — oh,  I  say  it  so 
reverently,  Ran — your  little  Savior !  " 


A  MAN'S  REACH  It 

Ran  said  nothing,  but  pressed  her  hands  as  her 
words  pricked  him  like  little  tacks — he  was  tender 
to-night. 

"  Mammy  says  he  is  the  '  spittin'  image  '  of  me. 
I  think  he  is  exactly  like  you,  Ran !  " 

"  Don't  talk  any  more,  Sweet !  Let  me  talk 
to  you.  I  met  Robert  Catlett  to-day  and  he  was 
delighted  to  hear  about  our  boy — he  has  two." 

"  Dear  old  slow  Robert !  " 
1 "  He  told  me  to  tell  you  that  he  was  delighted 
with  the  country,  and  that  he  was  going  to  bring 
his  sons  up  to  be  farmers." 

"How  is  Eleanor?" 

"  Just  as  pretty  as  ever,  he  says ;  is  a  fine  house- 
keeper, loves  the  mountains,  her  chickens  and  her 
lambs — and  is  raising  her  children  according  to 
books." 

"According  to  books?"  Charlotte  smiled,  "I 
think  love  and  faith  the  best  books,  Ran.  Eleanor 
is  such  a  mixture,  by  nature  a  wordling,  by  will 
almost  a  fanatic  to  her  notions — eh,  Ran  ?  Can't 
you  see  her  now  in  that  yellow  tulle  with  red  roses 
in  her  hair?  Stunning!  We  thought  Robert 
Catlett  not  half  good  enough  for  her.  Remember 
when  we  played  the  'Lady  of  Lyons?'  Bob's 
only  words  were,  '  Seize  him — seize  him ! '  and 
he  would  say,  *  Catch  him,  catch  him ! '  He 
always  seemed  so  dull — and  Eleanor  so  brilliant." 

"  They  were  a  foil  for  each  other — solidity  and 


14  A  MAN'S  REACH 

charm — wonder  what  their  boys  will  take  from 
each?  Heredity  always  interests  me." 

"  Does  it  ?    It  scares  me."    Charlotte  shivered. 

"  Robert  told  me  to  tell  you  the  oldest  boy  was 
Philip  St.  George  after  Eleanor's  father ;  and  the 
youngest,  just  ten  months  old,  William  Robert, 
after  his  father.  His  nick-name  is  '  Bill-Bob.' ' 

"How  cute!" 

"  He  is  crazy  about  the  baby — Robert  is  very 
sentimental,  you  know ;  he  took  my  hand  and  said : 
'  Ran,  your  baby  and  mine  must  inherit  our 
friendship.  Let's  pledge  for  them,  now — to  stick 
to  each  other  through  thick  and  thin ! ' 

"  How  sweet — oh,  Daddy,  isn't  it  lovely?  It's 
so  cozy,  you  and  the  baby  and  I,  in  this  pink 
twilight — I  wish  time  would  stand  still  till  I  told 
it  to  go.  Hear  his  little  *  birdy'  twitters  ?  He 
feels — he  knows  a  little  bit.  Precious  thing !  " 

"  Don't  talk  any  more,  dear !  " 

"  I'm  not  tired.  It's  so  good  to  have  you — 
what  else  did  Robert  say  ?  " 

"  He  came  down  especially  to  see  about  Kate 
and  Kitty." 

"  Such  a  good  foster-brother!     Is  Kate  sick?  " 

"  No — but  she  is  too  busy  to  look  after  Kitty. 
Nothing  so  pathetic  as  a  wild  child  with  a  tame, 
overworked  mother.  As  the  slang  goes,  Kitty 
is  on  the  *  blink,'  and  Kate  is  too  busy  to  see  it." 

"  Kitty  is  only  twelve,  how  could  she  be?  " 


A  MAN'S  REACH  16 

"  But  Chattie — Innocent,  there  are  signs  at 
twelve  that  are  facts  later.  Kitty  is  beautiful  and 
needs  looking  after,  and  I  told  Robert  so." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"  He  is  going  to  try  to  make  Kate  let  him  take 
Kitty  to  Albemarle.  You  have  talked  enough, 
Chattie — time  to  get  quiet.  Think  of  your  boy 
and  try  to  go  to  sleep.  Maybe  I  shouldn't  have 
mentioned  the  Ingrahams." 

"  That  doesn't  bother  me — nothing  stays  in  my 
mind  but  our  baby." 

"  Don't  talk  any  more.  Go  to  sleep — go  to 
sleep." 

Randolph  Turberville,  kneeling  by  the  big  white 
bed,  might  have  been  Sir  Galahad  or  St.  George. 
His  proportions,  in  the  half-light,  were  heroic; 
the  mould  of  his  head,  with  its  dark  thatch,  splen- 
did. He  chafed  the  limp  lily-hand  and  smoothed 
the  pure  brow  very  tenderly;  then  with  a  low, 
"  Go  to  sleep,  Honey, — go  to  sleep,"  kissed  her 
and  left  the  bedside  for  the  big  chair  by  the  fire. 

Chattie  was  very  still,  but  fragments  of  satis- 
faction now  and  then  passed  her  lips:  "  Beautiful 
—comfortable — hear  his  little  lips  '  suff  ' — Ran? 
Wonder  if  he  is  hungry — nothing  for  him  to- 
night ! "  A  long  pause,  then — "  You  there, 
Ran?"  Another  pause.  "Ran!" 

Charlotte  Turberville's  face  on  the  pillow  was 
a  Malbone  miniature  with  the  glass  scratched; 


16  A  MAN'S  REACH 

great  joy  had  not  dispelled  the  pinch  of  heartache 
which  made  her  look  older  than  her  twenty-five 
years ;  her  plaited  hair  zigzagged  on  the  counter- 
pane, and  her  face  in  the  flat  clasp  of  its  chaste 
smoothness  was  like  a  bruised  pearl  in  a  rim  of 
dull  gold. 

Randolph,  in  spite  of  his  momentary  exultation, 
was  bored  as  he  sat  in  the  big  chair  by  the  fire. 
He  generally  played  solitaire,  smoked  cigarettes, 
or  read  the  papers  when  in  the  house.  He  won- 
dered if  a  cigarette  would  do  any  harm  now; 
amidst  these  holy  mysteries  he  felt  like  a  restless 
boy  in  church,  or  a  bull  in  an  airship.  How  could 
he  get  out?  He  would  not  wake  Chattie  for  the 
world.  When  he  did  get  up,  everything  creaked, 
the  door  almost  gave  him  away  and  the  floor  and 
the  steps  remonstrated  audibly. 
'  Chattie's  sleep  was  like  gossamer — easily  torn. 
The  cruel  repression  of  years  had  relaxed  into  the 
glory  of  motherhood,  and  she  had  gone  to  sleep 
with  no  will,  only  unresisted  satisfaction.  After 
an  hour  of  billowy  unconsciousness  she  awoke  with 
a  shrill  "  Ran— Ran— Ran !  " 

When  her  husband  got  to  her,  she  was  trembling 
from  head  to  foot,  and  whimpering  pitiably. 
"  Oh,  Ran — don't  be  angry — I  am  so  sorry — but 
please  let  me  hold  you  tight  until  I  g-go  to  sleep 
again ! " 


II 

THE  little  Park  across  from  the  gray  house  had 
not  yet  bourgeoned  into  spring's  ecstasy,  but  here 
and  there  was  a  token  that  leaf  and  flower  were 
near.  A  few  moist  April  days  with  a  touch  of 
April  sun  had  set  the  yellow-bells  a-ringing,  and 
greened  the  earth  under  the  bare  trees,  which  held 
the  low  gray  April  dome  upon  the  tips  of  their 
long  gray  fingers. 

It  was  a  Wednesday  in  Lent,  and  from  the  gray 
house  where  ten  years  ago  a  son  was  born,  came 
a  woman  and  a  boy.  Nothing  would  have  ex- 
plained the  woman  better  than  her  suit  of  blue 
broadcloth — creaseless — costly — simple.  A  blue 
velvet  turban  emphasized  the  color  and  courage 
of  her  face.  Her  figure  was  still  slender  and 
young,  but  her  mouth  and  eyes  now  looked  more 
than  ten  years  older  than  had  the  mouth  and  eyes 
of  the  woman  in  the  bed.  Bouncing  beside  her, 
the  boy  yelled:  "  Bill-Bob— Bill-Bob!  "  and  her 
gentle  grasp  could  hardly  restrain  him  for  the  last 
word  which  she  always  gave :  — "  Remember, — 
Son-Boy,  half-past  six — you  can  see  the  clock 
plainly  in  Park-Place  tower;  don't  go  out  of  the 
Park— hear?  " 

"  I  always  hear,"  the  boy  answered  frankly — 
"  trouble  is  I  can't  remember." 

2  17 

* 


18  MAN'S  REACH 

He  pulled  from  her  like  a  young  colt  from  a 
close  bridle,  and  Charlotte  smiled  at  his  young 
strength — his  boyish  beauty — as  she  walked  on  to 
the  church  to  hear  her  cousin,  Bishop  Thruston, 
preach  from  the  text,  "  Wives  submit  yourselves 
unto  your  husbands  as  unto  the  Lord." 

Sometimes  it  was  very  hard  to  submit.  At 
this  same  hour  Edward  Potter  was  to  speak  at 
the  "  Equal  Suffrage  League  "  upon,  "  Women 
according  to  St.  Paul."  Chattie  wanted  to  hear 
him,  too,  for  although  she  lived  according  to  the 
standard  of  her  foremothers,  away  down  in  her 
truth-belt  was  the  question,  "  Is  it  fair?  "  How- 
ever, she  still  kept  the  faith,  and  her  cousin 
Stevenson  Thruston  would  show  her  this  after- 
noon how  to  keep  it  f orevermore. 

Her  short  walk  was  enlivened  by  the  shrill 
treble  of  her  son's  voice :  "  Bill-Bob,  oh,  Bill- 
Bob!  "  Nothing  small  or  uncertain  about  young 
Randolph  Turberville — his  personality  was  so  dis- 
tinct and  compelling  that  everybody  in  Boling- 
broke  knew  him;  his  name  opened  the  way  and 
his  individuality  kept  it.  His  sturdy  legs  bulged 
to  strong  flexible  loins  that  yielded  to  the  force 
of  his  broad  shoulders ;  and  upon  his  slender  neck 
his  fine  head  sat  firm  and  well  moulded.  He  was 
his  father  physically  except  in  color — his  mother's 
fair  rosiness  fell  over  his  father's  splendid  pro- 
portions like  a  soft  veil.  In  spirit  as  in  flesh  his 


A  MAN'S  REACH  10 

parents  fenced  in  him  continually — a  flash  of  his 
mother's  gentleness  would  yield  to  a  flame  of 
his  father's  anger;  the  foam  of  his  mother's  con- 
science would  disappear  in  the  green  wave  of  his 
father's  self-indulgence:  his  nature  was  a  game 
and  both  sides  tenacious. 

As  soon  as  he  entered  the  Park,  there  was  a 
cry :  "  Son-Boy,  Son-Boy,  be  on  our  side — be  on 
our  side!  "  But  Randolph  paid  no  attention — he 
was  looking  for  somebody. 

"  Needn't  look  for  '  Bill-Bob,'  he's  gone,"  an 
acute  observer  announced. 

"  Where?  "  Randolph  was  not  pleased  with  the 
news. 

"  To  '  Allemarle,'"  the  first  speaker  replied. 

"  You  know  everything,  don't  you  ?  "  And 
Randolph  threw  himself  on  one  of  the  little  green 
seats,  while  a  crowd  of  children  piped, — "  Please 
play  *  Tisket-tasket-green-and-yellow-basket '  with 
us." 

"  Kids,  tisket-tasket  babies !  "  Randolph  was 
very  contemptuous.  "  Come  on,  Conquest,  let's 
play  hare-and-hounds,"  as  another  boy  ran  up. 

"  Look  at  that  red-haired  girl !  "  Conquest 
pointed  to  a  pretty  child.  "  She  can  run  like  a 
cutter.  Let's  ask  her  to  play !  " 

Randolph  regarded  the  girl  critically  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  with  a  cordial — "  All  right !  "  ran 


20  A  MAN'S  REACH 

over  to  her,  and  thus  Time's  flight  was  soon  for- 
gotten. 

In  a  second  six  little  boys  and  the  girl  swept 
the  Park  like  a  furious  gale — the  rest  of  the  chil- 
dren sullen  and  envious. 

As  the  boy,  quite  apprehensive,  was  racing  home 
about  seven  o'clock,  he  ran  into  his  next-door 
neighbor,  Miss  Lucy  Ludwell. 

"  Randolph !  "  the  boy  expected  a  sharp  reproof, 
but  instead  Miss  Lucy  asked :  "  Many  gray  cats  in 
our  alley?  " 

"  Plenty  of  'em."     Randolph  was  relieved. 

"Ever  kill  any?" 

"  Heap  o'  times." 

"  I'll  give  you  twenty-five  cents  for  every  dead 
gray  cat  you  bring  me.  A  gray  cat  killed  " — Miss 
Lucy  almost  sobbed — "  my  canary  bird  just  now." 

"  A  de-e "  Randolph  restrained  his  indig- 
nation and  added,  "  I'll  kill  you  as  many  gray  cats 
as  you  want,  Miss  Lucy."  Then  bounced  along 
home. 

It  was  after  seven  when  a  rumpled  boy — his 
handsome  face  aflame,  his  hair  crinkling  about 
his  brow — dashed  to  the  gray  house  and  threw 
himself  upon  the  floor  of  the  porch  beside  his 
red  setter  Tweenchie,  whispering  into  the  dog's 
ear,  "  Is  she  mad  ?  "  And  the  dog  showing  his 
teeth  almost  said  "  Yes." 

His  mother  met  him  at  the  door,  reminded  him 


A  MAN'S  REACH  81 

gravely  of  his  disobedience  and  sent  him  supper- 
less  to  bed.  As  the  boy  went  reluctantly  upstairs, 
he  saw  his  father  and  some  merry  friends  in  the 
library  with  glasses  in  their  hands.  He  did  not 
go  straight  to  bed,  but  tipped  down  the  passage 
to  a  little  balcony  overhanging  the  back  yard  and 
called—"  Jeter,  Jeter !  " 

A  small  negro  boy  soon  answered  and  listened 
eagerly  to  Randolph's  relation  of  Miss  Lucy's 
offer. 

"  Think  we  can  get  any,  Jeter  ?  " 

"  Sure." 

"  Bully !  We'll  divvy."  Randolph  now  went 
to  bed  with  this  consolation:  "  If  Jeter  could  only 
get  four  cats,  he  would  get  fifty  cents  to  buy 
some  candy  for  that  dandy  red-head  girl,  who  was 
the  cause  of  his  being  put  to  bed." 

So  the  years  went  on  with  their  burden  of  per- 
plexity and  disillusion :  Randolph,  the  father,  had 
swung  far  away  from  the  intimacy  of  that  happy 
birth-night;  Randolph,  the  son,  was  restive,  and 
Charlotte  was  often  afraid  that  he  would  escape 
from  her  hand  like  a  toy  balloon  and  soar  in  an 
atmosphere  in  which  she  could  not  breathe. 

At  the  age  of  fifteen  Randolph  was  strenuous, 
fearless,  active,  intense.  Instead  of  cells  filled 
with  discreet  gray  matter,  his  brain  might  have 
been  a  circuit  of  hills  teeming  with  millions  of 


22  A  MAN'S  REACH 

brain-ants  each  moving  with  frantic  independence : 
he  was  obstreperous,  restless,  audacious — and 
kind;  marvelously  acquisitive — but  the  necessary 
attention,  though  brief,  exhausted  him,  and  his 
mind  swung  to  a  counter-action  in  the  form  of 
amusement  as  intense  as  his  work.  The  severity  of 
the  school  hours  relaxed  into  the  abandon  of  the 
afternoon  game;  the  feverish  activity  of  the  game 
gave  way  to  the  calmer  moments  of  the  fireside 
eventide.  But  even  then,  his  mind  wrestled  with 
all  sorts  of  literature.  Heredity  made  him  cour- 
teous to  girls,  but  after  the  fleeting  episode  of 
the  red-head  he  did  not  permit  them  to  bother  him. 

Among  his  weaknesses  was  a  tendency  to  gen- 
eral accommodation :  it  was  very  hard  for  him  to 
say  no,  and  this  agreeable  quiescence  was  the  fore- 
runner of  a  later  spirit  of  careless  conviviality. 

Religion  was  constitutional — so  far  as  a  rever- 
ence for  ecclesiastical  beauty  in  architecture,  ser- 
vice and  song  went;  but  the  problems  coincident 
with  its  manifestations  were,  as  yet,  contradictory 
and  obscure,  and  he  had  not  the  time  from  the 
glorious,  plain  things  of  life  to  tackle  it.  On 
Sundays  he  was  without  reproach,  he  enjoyed  the 
perfection  of  his  Sabbath  attire,  the  dignity  of 
his  mother's  appearance,  the  sense  of  distinction 
derived  from  the  high  seat  which  generations  of 
his  forefathers  had  occupied.  His  aesthetic  soul 
took  keen  delight  in  the  harmony  of  the  service 


A  MAN'S  REACH  28 

at  the  Holy  Comforter,  in  the  glorious  windows, 
the  vast  spaces — and  the  quality  of  the  wor- 
shippers. 

Charlotte  Turberville  —  like  Hannah  —  had 
vowed  a  vow  and  said,  "  O  Lord  of  Hosts,  if 
Thou  wilt  indeed  look  on  the  affliction  of  thine 
hand-maiden,  and  wilt  give  unto  thine  hand- 
maiden a  man-child,  then  I  will  give  him  unto  the 
Lord  all  the  days  of  his  life." 

Hannahs  may  give,  but  often  Samuels  refuse 
to  be  given ! 

Charlotte  had  made  a  calendar :  "  Short 
clothes  "  —  "  teeth  "  —  "  trousers  "  —  "  school " 
— "  confirmation  " — etc.  But  many  items  on 
that  record  had  to  be  rubbed  out.  According  to 
her  calendar  it  was  now  time  for  confirmation 
and  she  must  speak,  no  matter  how  hard  was  the 
speaking. 

She  broached  the  subject  in  the  twilight  of 
a  Sunday,  after  a  wonderful  exhortation  by  the 
same  bishop  who  had  convinced  her  that  submis- 
sion was  expedient.  The  boy  was  fresh  from  a 
walk  with  his  chums,  and  had  discussed  things 
hostile  to  the  bishop's  talk.  One  of  these  things 
was  a  club  and  cards  in  the  little  room  behind  the 
shop  of  Green  the  Tailor — to  be  called  "  The 
Green-Back."  It  was  an  exciting  plan,  and  the  big 
handsome  boy  was  busy  with  schemes  for  all  sorts 
of  fun,  when  his  mother,  who  had  been  very  quiet 


24  A  MAN'S  REACH 

on  the  other  side  of  the  fire,  said  in  her  tender 
way :  "  Son-Boy,  I  wished  for  you  this  afternoon." 

"  Why,  mother  ?  "  He  always  responded  cheer- 
fully to  her. 

"  Bishop  Thruston — our  cousin — spoke  to  the 
class  at  the  '  Comforter.'  I  could  not  half  enjoy 
it,  because  you  were  not  there." 

"  I  have  heard  one  sermon  to-day,"  rather  indif- 
ferently. 

"  Not  like  the  Bishop's.  There's  so  much  of 
me  in  you,  dear,  that  I  know  this  sermon  would 
have  affected  you  deeply." 

"  A  lot  of  you  and  a  lot  of  not  you."  There  was 
a  twinkle  in  the  boy's  eye.  "  Somebody  mighty 
near  me  doesn't  like  sermons." 

His  mother  winced,  but  went  on.  She  was 
afraid  she  had  already  waited  too  long. 

"  Have  you  thought  of  confirmation,  Ran- 
dolph ? "  These  words  affected  Randolph  like 
a  loud  "  Boo ! "  He  caught  his  breath  and  an- 
swered :  "  Of  course,  mother.  I  have  seen  it  about 
a  dozen  times,  haven't  I  ?  " 

"  Not  quite  so  often,  but  it  is  time  for  you " 

"  I  thought  that  sort  of  thing  was  voluntary — 
after  repentance  and  conversion,  when  a  fellow 
saw  awful  sights  and  felt — oh,  horribly!  Do  you 
remember  the  coming-through  of  Simon?  How 
he  yelled  that  he  '  done  got  'ligion,  that  his  feet 


A  MAN'S  REACH  85 

were  in  the  miry  clay,  but  now  on  the  rock  of 
ages?'" 

Charlotte  was  a  lioness  for  principle,  and  she 
fiercely  resented  her  son's  levity.  She  fairly  laid 
hold  upon  him,  and  the  Bishop's  words  were  no 
more  terrible  or  convincing  than  hers.  They 
threw  a  sharp  shadow  across  the  sweet  vision  of 
the  "  Green-Back  "  and  blurred  other  little  pas- 
times of  young  Randolph.  His  mother  had  not 
given  up  the  savior  idea,  and  she  hoped  that  her 
boy's  confirmation  would  affect  his  father  favor- 
ably. She  was  pained  by  the  attitude  of  this 
stony  listener,  and  made  up  her  mind  to  call  in 
Mr.  Elsing,  her  rector. 

So  within  a  few  days  her  son  found  himself 
in  the  same  room  with  the  clergyman.  It  seemed 
to  happen  naturally,  and  not  a  thought  of  a  per- 
sonal interview  crossed  Randolph's  mind  until 
Mr.  Elsing  began  to  inquire  into  his  spiritual  con- 
dition; then  the  lad's  embarrassment  and  dis- 
may saw  only  one  way  of  escape — a  quick  surren- 
der, an  immediate  acquiescence  to  Mr.  Elsing's 
suggestion  for  his  immediate  action.  If  he  had 
been  a  bit  holier,  or  a  bit  wickeder,  he  might  have 
been  able  to  resist ;  but  his  accommodating  spirit, 
his  unwillingness  to  oppose,  drew  him  into  a  net 
which  held  him  painfully. 

When  his  mother  came  in,  Mr.  Elsing,  with  dra- 
matic sympathy,  put  Randolph's  hand  in  hers  and 


26  A  MAN'S  REACH 

whispered :  "  Mrs.  Turberville — your  boy  is 
saved." 

Chattie  murmured  "  Thank  God,"  and  the 
clergyman  proceeded  to  explain  Randolph's  im- 
mediate responsibilities. 

After  a  while,  the  conversation  changed.  "  You 
will  be  glad  to  know,  Mrs.  Turberville,"  Mr. 
Elsing  spoke  low.  "  That  Kitty  Ingraham — Mrs. 
Nestles,  is — is  going  to  be  confirmed." 

"  Kitty?    Back  in  Bolingbroke?  " 

"  Yes,  yes, — returned  about  a  week  ago — a 
stricken,  changed  woman,  ready  to  live  another 
and  a  better  life."  A  pause  and  a  sigh.  "  We 
must  always  remember  that  those  who  stray  far- 
thest are  the  most  eager  to  remain  in  the  fold 
when  once  they  return.  Kitty  Ingraham  has  been 
thoughtless,  but  not  wicked — I  trust.  She  now 
sees  herself." 

"If  her  mother  only  knew!"  Chattie  was 
almost  in  tears. 

"  She  knows — she  knows."  Mr.  Elsing's  smile 
might  have  been  made  out  of  tissue  paper. 

"  We  have  heard  so  many  terrible  things." 
Chattie  was  almost  afraid  to  mention  them. 
"  Her  husband  killed  a  man  for  jealousy — and 
was  acquitted." 

"  Yes — yes — but  Kitty  will  explain,"  and  with 
another  sigh  Mr.  Elsing  almost  whispered,  "  She 
is  very  beautiful." 


A  MAN'S  REACH  .   27 

"  I  bet  I  saw  her  yesterday."  Randolph  was 
recovering — and  much  interested.  "  She  wore  a 
bright  purple  dress  and  has  lots  of  light  hair.  I 
was  in  the  Conquest's  car  and  Mrs.  Conquest 
winked  to  Mr.  Conquest  and  asked,  *  When  did 
she  come  back  ?  ' 

Charlotte  did  not  notice  the  boy's  remark,  nor 
did  the  clergyman,  and  after  a  pause  she  said, 
with  feeling :  "  We  were  devoted  to  her  mother, 
but  after  Kitty " 

"  Well,  well,  you  needn't  be  afraid  of  her  now 
— she  is  a  penitent  who  seeks  confirmation ;  "  and 
with  a  few  more  injunctions  to  Randolph,  Mr. 
Elsing  said  good-bye. 

When  he  was  gone,  precocious  fifteen  wanted  to 
know  all  about  Mrs.  Nestles.  Randolph  remem- 
bered Kitty  Ingraham  and  he  was  more  interested 
in  her  than  in  his  own  soul — at  present. 

At  first  Chattie  was  disposed  to  be  reticent,  but 
the  boy's  importunity  won.  "  Her  mother  was  one 
of  our  dearest  friends  and  the  adopted  sfster  of 
Robert  Catlett,  the  father  of  little  Bill-Bob  that 
you  played  with  so  much  when  his  father  brought 
him  to  Bolingbroke — remember?  " 

"Of  course  I  do — he's  a  bulger." 

"  Kitty's  mother  had  to  work,  and  Kitty  got 
ahead  of  her  and  went  with  strange  people,  and 
finally  ran  off  with  an  actor  named  Nestles.  They 
quarrelled,  as  one  might  expect,  and  in  a  fit  of 


28  A  MAN'S  REACH 

jealousy  Nestles  shot  one  of  the  actors.  He  and 
Kitty  fell  out  after  that — that's  about  all  I  know." 

"  And  her  husband  was  acquitted  ?  I  bet  she 
was  making  eyes  at  the  man.  You  going  to  have 
her  here?  " 

"If  she  is  going  to  lead  a  new  life,  dear " 

Suddenly  something  swept  Charlotte  as  a  fierce 
wind  bends  a  flower.  She  threw  her  arms  around 
Randolph,  lost  her  poise  for  a  moment,  and 
sobbed :  "  You  have  made  me  so  happy,  Son-Boy, 
let  us  forget  all  unlovely  things — and  always  try 
to  be  good !  A  boy  is  not  safe  until  he  is  in  the 
fold  of  the  church." 

"  Does  that  make  him  safe,  mother?  "  Ran- 
dolph was  gazing  steadily  into  Chattie's  blue  eyes. 
"  For  if  it  does,  I  should  think  every  parent  would 
yank  his  boy  in  by  the  scruff  of  his  neck." 

Chattie  would  have  preferred  more  gravity — 
more  spiritual  elation — but  she  tried  to  be  satisfied 
with  what  she  had. 

Randolph  soon  realized  that  the  net  fenced  him 
from  his  companions — reared  a  high  wall  of  par- 
tition between  him  and  the  "  Green-Back."  At 
first  he  climbed  to  the  highest  brick  of  this  wall  of 
partition,  peered  over  at  his  whilom  chums,  and 
snarled  mentally  at  their  natural  pranks;  while 
he  thanked  God,  insincerely,  that  he  was  not  as 
other  boys  were.  But  it  was  impossible  for  him 
to  maintain  this  forced  and  dizzy  attitude. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  29 

Confirmation  came  four  weeks  after  his  subju- 
gation by  the  rector.  An  exquisite  service  it  was 
— an  oratorio  of  song  and  prayer.  The  exaltation 
of  his  mother,  which  in  a  measure  counteracted 
the  glum  isolation  of  his  father,  and  a  syllabub 
over-dressing  of  repentance  and  resolution,  tem- 
porarily exalted  his  spirit.  For  the  first  time  in 
his  life  he  really  listened  to  a  sermon.  The  Bishop 
took  as  his  subject  the  incident  of  the  woman 
touching  the  garment  of  the  Christ,  and  His  quick 
perception  that  virtue  had  gone  out  of  Him.  The 
cry  of  the  discourse  was,  "  Have  you  ever  touched 
Christ  Jesus  ?  And  you  ?  And  you  ?  " 

His  voice  hammered  Randolph's  conscience 
soft ;  his  words,  like  searchlights,  sought  out  dark 
spots — he  was  one  of  that  staring,  taunting  multi- 
tude— he  had  never  touched  Jesus.  Who  had? 
Anybody  ? 

In  a  moment  it  was  all  plain  in  the  translucent 
intelligence  of  a  startled  young  mind;  first  the 
real  sense  of  "  need,"  then  the  earnest  reaching 
out,  the  true  touch  of  the  Christ,  the  trickling 
of  His  virtue  through  the  mazes  of  a  human  soul, 
creating  human  virtue  which,  in  turn,  would  go 
out  for  human  good. 

Again  Randolph  asked,  "  But  who  has  touched 
the  Master?  Who?  Anybody?" 

Who  in  this  vast  congregation  could  to-day  re- 
ceive the  Divine  encouragement "  Blessed  art  thou, 


30  A  MAN'S  REACH 

Simon  Bar-jona;  for  flesh  and  blood  hath  not 
revealed  it  unto  thee,  but  my  Father  which  is  in 
heaven  "  ? 

"Who  had?  Anybody?"  Randolph  turned  to 
his  mother.  "  Had  she  ?  Oh,  yes.  And  virtue 
had  in  turn,  gone  out  of  her  in  heavenly  patience, 
triumphant  silence.  Had  the  woman  with  the 
rapt  face  across  the  aisle  touched  Jesus?  Oh, 
yes.  And  at  length  virtue  had  gone  out  of  her 
in  the  classical  high-school  near  this  great  edifice. 
Had  the  old  soldier  with  the  leonine  head  touched 
Jesus?  Oh,  yes.  And  after  a  while  virtue  had 
gone  out  in  the  hospital  across  the  square."  He 
looked  at  this  one  and  that:  "Had  he — had  she? 
Yes — no — yes — no !  "  Then  he  asked  himself : 
"  Have  I  touched  Jesus  ?  Have  I — have  I  ?  "  An- 
swer, young  soul,  answer! 

The  confirmation  over,  the  communion  service 
began,  and  a  fear  clutched  Randolph's  soul :  only 
those  who  had  touched  Jesus  should  presume 
to  eat  of  that  bread  or  drink  of  that  cup.  The  iron 
spear  of  unworthiness  pointed  to  keep  him  away; 
his  mother's  anguish  and  disappointment  forced 
him  to  go.  "  Take,  eat !  "  Randolph  took  the 
bread,  held  it,  moved  it  as  if  to  put  it  to  his  lips, 
hesitated,  trembled,  then  with  more  reverence  than 
had  ever  guided  any  act  of  his  life,  he  slipped  it 
into  the  pocket  of  his  vest.  The  young  soul  had 
answered. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  31 

"  Drink  this  in  memory  of  me!  "  No  drop  of 
it  passed  his  lips. 

After  church  he  and  his  mother  walked  home 
in  silence — great  hours  hold  few  words.  Mrs. 
Turberville  went  in,  but  Randolph  flew  back  to  the 
church. 

The  rector  was  still  in  his  study,  which 
Randolph  without  preliminaries  entered,  and  be- 
gan equally  without  ceremony :  "  I  have  never 
touched  Jesus — so  I  could  not  taste  this."  He 
pulled  the  consecrated  crumb  from  his  pocket  and 
placed  it  reverently  in  the  rector's  hand. 

His  sensation  when  again  in  the  street  was — 
freedom.  He  felt  as  if  a  double  face  had  tele- 
scoped into  one  open  countenance  and  could  look 
the  world  in  the  eye  without  flinching — he  was  not 
a  hypocrite.  The  misery  of  the  church  was  dis- 
pelled, he  was  like  a  coney  or  a  wild  goat  of  the 
mountain  that  had  been  hitched  to  a  strange  and 
loaded  cart,  and  now  found  himself  loose  to  scam- 
per over  the  hills. 

He  was  no  hypocrite — thank  God ! 

The  sacred  crumb  was  the  first  word  from  the 
cross. 


Ill 

THE  next  jab  that  fate  had  in  store  for  Char- 
lotte Turberville  was  a  summons  from  the  Police 
Court  for  the  appearance  of  Randolph,  who, 
frenzied  with  foot-ball,  had  been  practising  in 
season  and  out  of  season.  The  McNabb  School 
was  soon  to  play  Woodberry-Forest,  and  upon 
young  Turberville's  prowess  greatly  depended 
McNabb's  victory. 

One  day,  at  practice,  his  ball  fell  into  the  yard 
of  a  negro  woman,  and  over  went  Randolph  after 
it  The  woman  had  picked  up  the  ball  and  re- 
fused to  give  it  up.  He  seized  her  and  took  it: 
and  forthwith  the  irate  woman  had  him  arrested 
for  assault  and  battery. 

The  boy  got  off  with  costs  and  a  reprimand, 
and  went  away  up  in  the  estimation  of  his  friends ; 
but  away  down  in  the  opinion  of  his  mother.  His 
adoring  gang — Minor,  Carmichael,  Conquest  and 
the  rest — all  swore  to  reward  him  for  his  brief 
persecution  by  a  foot-ball  zeal  never  before  exhib- 
ited: they'd  whip  Woodberry  or  die.  But  they 
didn't,  for  there  was  a  wonderful  fellow  on  the 
Woodberry  team  whose  stellar  performance  won 
the  game  by  a  single  touchdown ;  this  fellow  was 
Bill-Bob  Catlett. 

32 


A  MAN'S  REACH  S3 

What  with  the  shame  of  the  Police  Court  and 
other  harrowing  domestic  details  even  more  try- 
ing— it  was  quite  three  weeks  after  Chattie's  talk 
with  her  rector  about  Kitty  Nestles — before  she 
found  a  spare  evening  to  invite  Mrs.  Nestles 
to  tea. 

There  had  been  much  talk  of  Kitty's  return — 
and  her  confirmation;  even  her  mother's  old 
friends  thought  she  should  have  fought  her  battle 
elsewhere. 

Kitty's  remarkable  costume  at  her  confirmation 
shocked  the  conservative  congregation,  and 
although  everybody  thought  her  beautiful,  many 
also  thought  her  frivolous  and  unpardonably  vain. 

Charlotte  defended  her  valiantly,  excused  her 
split  skirt  and  red  stockings,  gave  her  the  liberty 
of  her  home — and  invited  her  to  tea  the  very  day 
that  McNabb's  was  defeated  by  Woodberry. 

Although  he  bore  his  defeat  with  a  smile, 
Randolph  was  very  sore  over  the  game.  His  com- 
fort, as  he  whistled  his  way  home,  was  that  his 
team  played  splendidly  and  would  certainly  have 
won  but  for  a  dogged,  wiry  chap,  Robert  Catlett, 
who  substituted  for  "  Chig  "  Scott — a  Woodberry 
fellow  with  whom  Randolph  had  played  before, 
and  of  whom  he  was  not  the  least  afraid.  He 
had  always  had  an  idea  that  Bill-Bob  Catlett  was  a 
"  fighter  "  ever  since  he  played  with  him  in  the 
Park  when  he  was  a  kid. 


34  A  MAN'S  REACH 

Before  Randolph  reached  home  he  remembered 
that  Mrs.  Nestles  was  coming  to  tea.  He  was 
rather  glad — they  would  have  a  fine  supper  of 
which  he  felt  the  need,  and  he  had  heard  that  Mrs. 
Nestles  was  great  fun.  He  changed  with  care, 
and  at  half-past  seven  joined  his  parents  and  the 
child  of  their  departed  friends  in  his  mother's 
library,  where  chintz,  lamps,  books  and  flowers 
always  gave  the  impression  of  cheerfulness,  no 
matter  what  the  spiritual  condition  of  the  occu- 
pants. 

"  This  giant — your  child  ?  "  was  Kitty's  greet- 
ing. 

"  Not  quite  sixteen,"  was  his  mother's  proud 
reply. 

"  Hard  to  believe ! "  Kitty  was  holding 
Randolph's  hand  affectionately.  "  Why  I  can 
well  remember  bringing  your  mother  guinea  eggs 
when  you  were  born — guinea  eggs  and  fresh  rolls 
— don't  you  remember,  Cousin  Chattie  ?  I  always 
associate  guinea  eggs  with  young  babies.  Just 
think,  boy,  I  could  tote  guinea  eggs  and  walk 
alone  when  you  were  born." 

"  And  not  be  so  very  old  either,"  Randolph's 
smile  was  one  of  his  big  assets. 

"  Woodberry  fleeced  you,"  Mr.  Turberville  re- 
marked a  little  teasingly. 

"  I  don't  think  you  could  call  it  fleecing."  A 
quick  flush  evidenced  the  boy's  soreness.  "  It 


A  MAN'S  REACH  86 

was  a  good  game — and  we  lost;  but  we  played 
good  ball  even  if  Woodberry  played  better.  That 
fellow  Catlett  is  a  fiend." 

"  What  Catlett?  "  To  Charlotte  foot-ball  was 
the  battle,  murder  and  sudden  death  from  which 
she  prayed  to  be  delivered;  but  she  was  immedi- 
ately interested  in  the  name  Catlett. 

"  Bill-Bob — lives  in  Albemarle — stayed  here 
once — don't  you  remember?"  her  son  replied. 

"  Robert's  son,  Ran,"  Chattie  said  tenderly. 

"  Looks  so — but  I  never  thought  Robert's  son 
would  play  foot-ball — he  would  more  likely  be  a 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  boy."  Ran  had  a  great  contempt  for 
the  Y.  M.  C  A. 

"  Bill-Bob,  they  say,  is  awfully  studious  and 
good,  but  an  all-around  athlete — to  boot,  won't 
give  as  much  time  as  the  team  requires,  but  ready 
to  jump  in  when  he  is  needed.  Scott  broke  his 
leg  a  week  ago,  and  Bill-Bob  swore  the  team 
should  win  and  practised  for  all  he  was  worth. 
Nobody  down  here  knew  that  Scott  had  broken 
his  leg —  Young  Randolph  paused  a  moment. 
"  It's  great  to  tackle  nerve  like  that  boy  has — 
he  is  a  natural  winner." 

"  You  said,  Cousin  Ran  "-  —Kitty's  eyes  were 
languorous  and  melting  as  she  turned  them  upon 
her  host — "  that  you  would  have  thought  Uncle 
Robert's  son  would  have  been  a  Y.  M.  C.  A.  chap 


36  A  MAN'S  REACH 

instead  of  a  good  foot-ball  player — why  not 
both?" 

"  They  don't  go  together/'  Ran  smiled  signifi- 
cantly. 

"  I  haven't  seen  Bill-Bob  since  he  was  a  little 
boy — Uncle  Robert  doesn't  approve  of  me," 
Kitty's  lowered  lids  for  a  moment  shadowed  the 
velvet  glow  of  her  cheeks  with  her  marvellous 
dark  lashes.  "  He  was  always  a  darling  little 
boy — merry  as  a  grig,  fearless  and  trusty  as  a  man 
— not  a  bit  like  Saint  George,  who  is  a  poet — 
dreamy,  idle  and  beautiful.  But  he'll  never  write 
poetry — it's  too  much  trouble;  he  merely  thinks 
in  lyrics,  iambics  and  hexameters.  Uncle  Robert 
and  Aunt  Eleanor  speak  of  him  as  their  preacher 
— just  because  he  is  not  keen  for  anything  else, 
I  think;  but  they  have  set  Robert — Bill-Bob— 
apart  for  some  sort  of  money-making  industry 
that  will  make  them  all  comfortable.  Bill- Bob 
is  a  capable  boy  and  Saint  George  an  adorable 
idler,  with  a  mind  too  dainty  for  common  toil — 
they  used  to  speak  of  Saint  George  as  their  silk 
boy,  and  of  Bill-Bob  as* their  good,  strong  denim." 

"  I  have  come  up  against  him  twice,"  Randolph 
remarked,  "  and  he  has  been  game  as  lightning 
each  time." 

"Oughtn't  we  to  have  him  here,  Ran  ?  "  Chattie 
was  always  bent  on  hospitality,  and  before  her 
husband  could  reply  she  turned  to  her  son  and 


A  MAN'S  REACH  97 

inquired,  "  Where  is  the  Woodberry  team  to- 
night?" 

"  Going  to  leave  at  ten-thirty — but  at  the 
Bolingbroke  till  then." 

"  Thone  up,  dear,  and  ask  Robert — Bill-Bob — 
or  whatever  he  is — to  supper." 

"Bully!"  Randolph  fairly  skipped  to  the 
'phone.  He  wished  to  see  this  young  hero  again 
as  a  mere  boy. 

"  Aren't  you  crazy  about  him  ?  "  Kitty  Nestles 
asked  when  the  boy  was  gone.  "  Handsomest 
creature  I  ever  saw,  bright  as  a  dollar — glorious 
mixture  of  you  both — what  is  he  going  to  be?  " 

"  A  lawyer,  I  hope.  What  else  could  a  Ran- 
dolph Turberville  be  ?  "  Chattie  smiled  at  her 
husband. 

"  Some  of  them  are  so  poor  that  I  should  advise 
a  change  of  occupation." 

Kitty  turned  to  Ran  as  he  spoke  and  could 
but  note  the  time-prints  on  his  still  handsome  face, 
and  even  her  giddy  soul  was  tinged  with  regret. 
"  What  a  pity — how  could  a  man  fail  with  such 
a  wife  ?  " — was  her  thought. 

"  Catlett  is  taking  supper  with  the  Anderson's," 
Randolph  announced  regretfully  as  he  returned. 

"  In  good  company,"  said  Ran.  "  Like  his 
parents — the  best  or  none  for  them." 

"  The  way  with  us  all,  I  think."  Chattie  arose 
at  the  supper  bell. 


38  A  MAN'S  REACH 

"  Except  me,"  sighed  Kitty  as  she  followed 
her  in. 

Notwithstanding-  her  dainty  loveliness,  Kitty 
seemed  somewhat  discordant  to  the  old-fashioned 
dignity  of  Chattie  Turberville's  dining-room. 
Heavy  silver,  shining  mahogany,  thin  china,  por- 
traits, and  Simon  the  butler,  were  the  "  old  "  to 
Kitty's  "  new."  Her  gown,  though  beautiful, 
was  rather  startling.  The  soft  black  skirt  con- 
cealed nothing  of  her  round  slenderness,  every 
movement  gave  tantalizing  glimpses  of  some  half- 
hidden  charm.  Her  pretty  feet  were  but  periods 
to  her  trim  silken  legs.  Her  bodice,  but  a  picot- 
edged  'kerchief,  artistically  concealed  and  revealed 
her  marble  bosom:  and  her  slender  neck  rising 
above  was  flexible  ivory  on  which  her  well-cut 
face,  with  its  soft  tints,  hung  like  a  rose  on  its 
stem;  yet  over  the  rose,  the  ivory,  the  chiselling 
appeared  a  faint  blur  like  a  smut  from  the  left 
hand  of  fate. 

"  There  were  never  such  waffles.  And  did  you 
kill  these  ducks  ?  "  She  beamed  on  Ran  again. 

"  I  really  did — the  gang  has  a  club  down  on  the 
Mattaponi — we  bagged  thirty-five  yesterday." 

"  They  taste  as  if  you  killed  them.  Oh,  me, 
how  I  love  Virginia  cooking !  Is  Mandy  living — 
and  do  you  have  waffle  days  and  Sally-Lunn  days 
and  buckwheat-cake  days  as  you  used  to  do?" 
The  musical  babbling  of  this  modern  siren  was  the 


A  MAN'S  REACH  89 

tender  recollection  of  sacred  hours  to  her  friends, 
who  were  going  to  stand  by  her.  "  This  homeli- 
ness," she  went  on,  "  makes  one  feel  like  a  way- 
ward child,  who  is  sweetly  forgiven.  How  I  have 
missed  it!  You  all  can  never  know  how  hard  it 
was  to  come  back — nor  how  sweet  it  is  to  be  back." 

Many  replies  suggested  themselves  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Turberville,  but  it  was  a  difficult  moment 
and  none  of  them  seemed  quite  appropriate. 
Young  Randolph  watched  Kitty  with  keen  inter- 
est— she  was,  to  him,  an  unreal  but  adorable 
vision.  He  had  never  seen  anything  like  her 
before. 

Kitty  wished  to  talk,  and  she  rather  liked  their 
silence.  She  had  dwelt  among  stage- folk.  She 
had  played  parts  and  danced  ballets ;  and  she  knew 
when  she  held  her  audience. 

"  I  don't  feel  to  any  people  as  I  do  to  you," 
looking  first  at  her  host  and  then  at  her  hostess, 
and  incidentally  sweeping  the  boy  with  her  eyes, 
"  and  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  am  sorry.  That's 

the "  Kitty's  voice  broke  plaintive,  and 

Chattie  to  comfort  her  began:  "Of  course  you 

are.  We "  She  looked  at  Ran  and  his  queer, 

interrogatory  smile  confused  her,  prevented  her 
from  going  on. 

As  for  the  boy,  he  felt,  he  did  not  think.  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life  the  veil  of  the  sanctuary 
was  lifted,  and  he  knew  that  he  was  man — and 


40  A  MAN'S  REACH 

that  she  who  had  spoken  was  woman.  The  pool 
of  his  being  was  stirred,  and  a  multitude  of  emo- 
tions were  struggling  to  the  top. 

"  What  are  your  plans,  dear  ?  "  Chattie  asked 
when  they  were  again  in  the  library. 

Ran's  cigarette  case  was  on  the  table,  and  Kitty 
took  from  it  a  cigarette,  and  with  a  smile,  asked 
her  hostess  very  sweetly,  "  You  don't  mind  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  do."  Chattie's  disapproval 
was  very  gentle.  "  I  never  saw  a  lady  smoke 
before,  although  of  course  I  knew  they  did  it." 

"  Go  on,  Kitty."  Ran  was  amused.  "  Chattie 
is  a  back  number,  she's  afraid  not  to  protest — 
that's  her  religion." 

Kitty  lighted  from  Ran's,  took  her  seat  in  a  low 
chair,  crossed  her  jewelled  feet,  and  puffed 
enchantingly. 

"  Son-Boy  doesn't  even  smoke," — Chattie 
patted  her  boy's  sunny  mane — "  and  I  wish  you 
wouldn't." 

Ran's  expression  was  of  amusement;  the  boy 
was  fascinated;  the  mother  was  horribly  disap- 
pointed. 

"  What  are  my  plans,  Cousin  Chattie?  There 
are  only  a  few  things  that  I  can  do,  and  I  am 
obliged  to  make  money.  The  only  practical  thing 
that  I  can  do  is  dancing.  There  is  a  lot  of  money 
in  dancing." 

"  And  friends,  too,"  Ran  looked  at  Kitty  slyly. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  41 

"  I  have  taken  a  studio  in  the  Arcade  Building. 
My  classes  will  meet  mornings  and  afternoons, 
and  I  am  giving  a  recital  at  the  Bolingbroke  to- 
morrow. I  used  your  name,  Cousin  Chattie — I 
knew  you  would  do  everything  you  could  do  for 
me." 

Chattie  was  a  little  surprised,  but  she  did  not 
protest  this  time. 

"  I  have  not  secured  a  man  to  dance  with  me 
yet.  Randolph,  don't  you  dance?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  Chattie  could  not  keep  silent  now, 
"  none  of  these  horrible  new  things." 

"  They  are  not  horrible,  if  you  dance  them  right. 
I'll  show  you  they  aren't.  Play  '  Dreaming,' 
Cousin  Chattie — and  be  convinced." 

"  I  don't  think  I  can."  Mrs.  Turberville  was 
quite  positive. 

"  But  here  is  a  Victor — haven't  you  a  record?  " 

"  I  believe  not,"  said  Mrs.  Turberville,  to  the 
amusement  of  her  husband  and  the  despair  of 
her  son. 

"  The  Conquests  have  one."  Randolph  was 
wild  to  see  Mrs.  Nestles  dance. 

"  Run  over  and  borrow  it !  "  said  his  father. 

"  They  are — "  Chattie  began. 

"  Go  over  and  get  it ! "  Mr.  Turberville  re- 
peated with  more  emphasis. 

The  record  was  procured,  the  chairs  set  back, 
the  music  started,  and  the  seductive  evolutions  of 


42  A  MAN'S  REACH 

the  dance  began.  Every  curve  in  Kitty  Nestles 
was  answer  to  the  dreamy  strain.  Leg  and  arm 
had  voice:  eyes  and  lips  spoke:  slowly,  impres- 
sively, gracefully,  wonderfully,  did  sinuous  im- 
purity put  off  its  purity,  and  unveil  delectable  mys- 
teries to  the  senses  of  a  throbbing,  dizzy  boy. 

"  Take  the  record  back !  "  Chattie  thought  they 
had  had  enough. 

"  No,  indeed,"  protested  Ran,  "  we  have  not  had 
half  enough." 

Kitty  took  breath  and  danced  again.  Then  she 
must  show  the  boy  and  the  man,  and  Cousin 
Chattie,  too;  but  the  wife  and  mother  declined  the 
offer  while  the  two  men  yielded  to  music  and  wo- 
man, and  watched — enchanted — the  glide  and 
poise  of  two  pretty  feet,  felt  the  touch  of  slim- 
ringed  hands,  and  the  play  of  warm,  spicy  breath. 

Suddenly  Kitty's  mood  changed.  She  sat  down 
by  Chattie  and  sighed.  "  Don't  think  I  do  it  for 
fun!  It  is  my  calling — my  bread.  I  am  done 
with  impulse,  wil fulness — I  have  turned  over  a 
new  leaf.  That's  the  reason  I  was  confirmed.  I 
wanted  something  to  clamp  me,  to  hold  me  so  hard 
that  I  couldn't  get  loose  no  matter  how  badly  I 
wanted  to.  All  my  life  I  have  had  unmanageable 
desires  that  would  run  here  and  there  wherever 
they  wished  to — like — like — flocks  of  little  chick- 
ens out  of  a  coop.  And  I  didn't  have  anything 
in  me  strong  enough  to  keep  them  in.  Maybe 


A  MAN'S  REACH  43 

the  church  can,"  she  sighed  again  plaintively. 

Somebody  might  have  spoken — but  no  one  did. 
Chattie  was  afraid  of  Ran's  smile — she  was  very 
religious,  and  if  she  said  anything  she  would 
preach. 

Ran  knew  that  what  he  wished  to  say  was  inex- 
pedient, and  the  boy  only  wanted  to  touch  those 
dimpled  shoulders,  and  cry :  "  You  are  O.  K.  old 
girl,  don't  mind !  " 

There  were  more  sighs  and  a  butterfly  fluttering 
of  the  eyelids  and  Kitty  continued — there  would 
be  no  more  explanation  after  to-night :  "  I  began 
wrong,  Cousin  Chattie.  I  was  so  little  when  papa 
died,  and  mama  never  smiled — she  blanketed  her- 
self— you  remember  that  hideous  pall  behind  and 
before?  She  made  me  want  to  get  away  from  it. 
There's  no  telling  where  I  went.  Everybody  put 
their  fingers  in  my  pie  and  told  mama  things,  and 
when  I  was  with  her  it  was,  '  Don't — don't — 
don't!'  And  when  I  was  out  of  her  presence 
it  was,  '  Do — do — do ! '  All  the  time  my  desires 
were  irrepressible. 

"  The  crisis  came  that  summer  the  Templeton 
Company  came  to  Bolingbroke — remember?  By 
this  time  I  knew  I  had  looks,  and  I  was  beginning 
to  play  them.  I  met  Paul  Nestles — oh  me !  " 

Chattie  gave  Kitty  a  nod  as  a  warning — the  boy 
was  here — the  subject  was  not  exactly  suitable  for 
him.  Then  she  winked  at  Ran  and  looked  to  see 


44  A  MAN'S  REACH 

how  Randolph  was  taking  it.  Kitty  took  no 
notice  of  either  winks  or  nods — Ran's  attitude  was 
encouraging,  and  the  boy  was  petrified  with 
interest. 

"  I  couldn't  get  Paul  Nestles  out  of  my  mind. 
Nothing  else  mattered  in  the  wide  world.  Such 
a  face — such  eyes — such  a  melting,  tender  voice ! 
I  wanted  him,  and  I  must  have  what  I  wanted." 

She  paused,  clasping  her  hands  and  looking 
down. 

"  My  idol  has  fallen — I  have  seen  life — I  have 
danced  for  bread — I  have  been  face  to  face  with 
sin—I—I " 

Chattie's  nods  and  winks  and  flushed  face 
amused  her  husband  and  he  announced  gravely: 
"  Chattie  is  getting  St.  Vitus's  dance,  but  in  spite 
of  it  I  beg  you  to  go  on  Kitty — Randolph  is  no 
baby." 

"  Have  I  said  anything  I  should  not  have  said?  " 
Kitty  asked  with  surprise. 

"  Not  a  word — go  on,"  Mr.  Turberville  an- 
swered. 

"  Men  like  Paul  Nestles  don't  know  the  truth — 
they  act  all  the  time — they  are  absolutely  incon- 
sistent. When  he  got  tired  of  me  he  said  I  was 
too  free  with  other  men." 

Chattie  could  stand  it  no  longer ;  she  proposed 
that  Randolph  go  out.  She  might  as  well  mildly 


A  MAN'S  REACH  45 

suggest  that  a  young  ox  leave  a  field  of  juicy  new 
corn.  Ah,  no,  Randolph  was  here  to  stay! 

"  You  know  I  couldn't  be  too  free  with  men, 
Cousin  Chattie.  Well,  Paul  Nestles  absolutely 
deserted  me  for  three  years.  I  battled  about 
hither  and  yonder,  and  when  I  was  free  I  came 
home — was  I  not  right  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  so,"  Ran  affirmed  with  feeling. 

Kitty's  explanation  had  made  her  cheeks  darkly 
red  like  an  American  beauty,  and  her  loveliness 
had  gone  from  exquisite  daintiness  to  the  brilliant 
glory  of  a  cloudless  dawn.  Hair,  eyes,  flesh  were 
splendidly  illumined  by  a  rush  of  feeling.  She 
closed  her  eyes  as  if  overcome,  and  then  mur- 
mured, "  I  am  white — I  am  clean !  " 

"Of  course  you  are."  Young  Randolph  had 
been  eloquently  silent  until  this  moment:  when 
Kitty  left  at  twelve  o'clock  he  took  her  home. 


IV 

THE  cruel  beauty  of  Kitty  Nestles  stirred  the 
pool  that  lay  pellucid  and  waveless  in  the  fastness 
of  a  youth's  innocence.  Something  mysterious 
rose  from  the  depths  of  the  boy-man  and  broke 
into  strange  and  fluttering  desires  like  bright  and 
restless  humming-birds.  These  strange  desires, 
these  humming-birds  of  the  flesh,  sipped  the  dan- 
gerous nectar  of  Kitty  Nestles's  beauty;  but  ere  it 
was  too  late  they  detected  poison  in  it — and  flew 
away :  then  the  pool  was  still  again. 

But  the  "  man  "  had  stirred — was  awake :  and 
it  went  on  growing  according  to  nature's  law. 
Randolph's  mother  watched  this  development  jeal- 
ously, and  his  father  often  felt  as  if  he  were  read- 
ing a  dog-eared  story-book,  for  his  son  was  in 
many  ways  much  like  himself. 

Charlotte  Turberville  was  a  thoughtful  woman, 
and  she  realized  that  the  child  is  not  solely  the 
mother's  experiment,  but  also  the  father's  nature 
• — a  medley  of  inherited  passion,  a  mixture  of  all 
the  good  and  bad  things  which  heredity  can  offer ; 
sometimes  so  assimilated  that  the  "  man  "  is  as 
acceptable  as  plum  pudding  with  all  its  warring 
condiments ;  sometimes  so  horribly  mixed  that  the 
result  is  as  hideous  as  a  crazy  quilt, 

46 


A  MAN'S  REACH  47 

To  the  mother  of  a  boy  there  comes  a  day  when 
he  is  an  unknown  quantity — like  a  cake  which  has 
been  stirred  and  beaten  to  perfection,  but  not  until 
it  is  done  can  its  excellence  be  tested.  In  the 
moment  that  it  is  about  to  change  from  dough  to 
cake  something  unexpected  happens  and  the  thing 
that  was  perfect  when  raw  becomes  awful  when 
done. 

Randolph  Turberville  was  in  this  crucial,  under- 
done state ;  Charlotte's  anxiety  made  her  watch  the 
oven  and  the  boy  resented  her  "  constant  eye." 

Since  the  fleeting  obsession  of  Kitty,  Randolph 
had  been  interested  in  the  tyranny  of  sex.  He 
began  to  study  love.  He  read  with  throbbing 
pulses  historic  love-affairs — the  world-romancy ; 
and  while  he  was  thinking  and  reading  he  fell 
indeed  in  love. 

In  the  autumn  of  his  eighteenth  year,  Mr.  Henry 
Corbin,  of  "  Laneville,"  leased  the  Murray  house 
just  across  the  Park,  and  a  quick  intimacy  sprung 
between  the  Corbin  boys  and  Randolph.  Their 
only  sister  was  coming  for  Christmas  and  Ran- 
dolph was  sorry — they  might  have  to  take  her 
around. 

On  Christmas  eve's  eve  all  the  boys  were  going 
to  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Comforter  to  put  up 
wreaths,  and  about  half -past  eight  Randolph 
walked  briskly  through  the  Park  to  get  the 
Corbins,  As  he  stepped  into  the  Corbins'  hall,  a 


48  A  MAN'S  REACH 

vision  fairly  took  his  breath  away.  A  girl,  on 
a  step-ladder  in  the  drawing-room,  was  tying  a 
gay  bell  to  the  chandelier  with  a  blood-red  ribbon. 
The  curve  of  her  uplifted  arm,  the  symmetry  of 
her  tense  slenderness,  and  the  tilt  of  her  auburn 
head,  delighted  him. 

"  Turberville,  this  is  my  sister  Lettice,"  Henry 
Corbin  said  with  a  proud  smile. 

"  Who  can't  be  decently  polite  because  this 
ladder  is  so  ticklish,"  came  in  a  queer,  melodious 
shrillness. 

"  Let  me  take  your  place,"  Randolph  said 
quickly. 

Lettice  laughed — "  What  boy  could  ever  tie  a 
bow?  Might  as  well  expect  a  girl  to  sharpen  a 
lead  pencil."  The  ice  was  broken. 

The  bow  having  been  tied  and  untied  until  it 
suited,  the  girl  stepped  nimbly  from  the  ladder  and 
offered  her  hand. 

Her  face,  like  an  inspired  cameo,  gave  at  first 
the  impression  of  remoteness,  but  her  tawny, 
welcoming  hair  and  the  warmth  of  her  mysterious 
eyes  forced  a  sudden  friendliness.  Randolph  was 
dazzled  by  her  bronze  hair — fine  and  wavy,  that 
lay  in  a  thick  coil  around  her  small  head  like  a 
breathing  thing  asleep ;  by  her  long,  curly  lashes ; 
by  her  eyes  black  as  onyxes  that  night ;  by  her  lips 
undulating  with  feeling;  by  her  grace ;  by  her  high 


A  MAN'S  REACH  49 

voice,  which  called  to  something  listening  within 
his  heart. 

For  a  moment  Lettice  gazed  critically  at  the 
cheerful  ribbon  bow,  then  drew  a  sigh  of  approval 
and  pronounced :  "  It  will  do.  I  have  a  '  scruting  ' 
eye,  as  Aunt  Dilsey  says — Aunt  Dilsey  is  the 
sphynx  of  Laneville;  I  wish  you  knew  her." 

"  I'm  only  too  glad  to  know  you."  Randolph 
was  eager  and  brusque.  "  We  are  going  to  put  up 
wreaths  in  the  church — come  on  with  us !  " 

"  Would  you  let  me?  "  Her  smile  was  grate- 
ful, and  she  ran  up  to  ask  her  parents.  Soon  she 
returned — cheeks  burning,  face  flaring  with  dis- 
appointment. "  Papa,  as  usual,  won't  let  me. 
He  ought  to  be  a  pope  and  issue  propagandas, 
bulls  and  things.  He  thinks  himself  infallible  as 
it  is,  and  no  matter  what  mama  thinks,  she's 
always  afraid  to  say  '  Boo ! '  I  must  not  go  down 
to  the  church  with  you,  boys,  because  it  is  sleeting 
and  I  sneezed  once  this  time  last  year.  Pshaw !  " 

"  I'll  run  up  and  beg  for  you."  Randolph  was 
ready  to  do  anything  for  her. 

"  Then  you  would  be  an  improper  gander — you 
don't  know  papa." 

A  sudden  memory  made  Randolph  ask,  "  Aren't 
you  the  girl  that  played  in  the  Park  with  us  about 
nine  years  ago — and  ran  like  a  deer?  " 

"  You  can't  be  the  cute  little  boy  that  bossed 
the  job?" 

4 


50  A  MAN'S  REACH 

"  I  am  the  boy  that  caught  you  by  the  hair  and 
made  you  squeal: — you  were  a  dandy  kid — I've 
never  forgotten  you.  I  sold  a  dead  cat  and  bought 
candy  for  you,  and  when  I  couldn't  find  you,  be- 
cause I  didn't  know  your  last  name,  I  got  furious 
and  threw  the  candy  in  the  gutter;  if  you  couldn't 
eat  it  nobody  should." 

"  Delicious!  "  The  bad  humor  of  Lettice  had 
gone.  "  Please  tell  me  about  the  cat !  " 

Randolph  told  his  story  well,  adding,  "  I 
thought  your  name  so  nice  and  green." 

"And  me?" 

"  I  don't  like  to  tell,"  and  with  a  few  more 
merry  words  the  boys  were  off  to  church,  and 
Lettice  was  dreaming  over  the  fire. 

Randolph  spent  the  night  in  the  first  wild  fever 
of  real  love.  One  moment  his  body  would  groan 
with  a  queer  craving,  the  next — his  soul  would 
disengage  itself  from  such  queer  hunger  and,  alilt 
on  a  mysterious  bough,  try  to  peep  into  the  heart 
of  Lettice  Corbin.  Was  there  ever  anybody  like 
her?  She  had  gripped  his  heart  from  the  height 
of  a  step-ladder,  and  still  held  it  brutally.  Was 
she  ready  to  catch  another?  Did  she  care? 

She  would — she  must.  He  could  feel  her  hair 
now — touching  his  face.  Gee-whizz!  Even  the 
imaginary  surrender  made  him  tremble,  and  his 
youth  swelled  again  with  hunger,  and  then  yielded 


A  MAN'S  REACH  51 

to  the  crooning  of  his  soul,  which  thrilled — 
chanted — to  the  soul  of  Lettice  Corbin. 

The  next  morning  Randolph  was  ashamed  of 
his  sensations — but  in  an  entirely  different  degree 
from  his  confusion  over  Kitty's  brief  tyranny: 
then  it  was  a  blush,  now  it  was  presumption.  He 
was  entirely  different  to-day  from  his  yesterday- 
self.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  entered  the  sacred  places 
of  the  sages  and  eaten  forbidden  fruit.  The 
familiar  things  in  his  room  were  unfamiliar,  and 
his  morning  toilet  was  a  problem.  Which  shoes  ? 
Which  cravat  ?  Which  socks  ?  Was  his  new  suit 
too  loud?  He  and  his  mother  had  thought  the 
tiny  fleck  of  red  great  style  yesterday,  now  that 
infinitesimal  prick  of  color  frightened  him.  Did 
his  hair  wave  too  much?  He  must  have  it  cut 
to-day. 

In  the  library  the  fire  was  spluttering  with  the 
true  Christmas  spirit,  row  upon  row  of  books 
were  cordial  as  usual,  but  he  did  not  care  for 
them  to-day.  A  bunch  of  narcissi  in  a  red  vase 
on  the  table  was  suddenly  transformed  into  the 
fragrant  purity  of  Lettice  Corbin  safe  in  the  red 
coil  of  his  love.  He  stood  up,  raised  his  eyes, 
and  almost  touched  Christ  through  the  vision  of 
her  unstained  girlhood. 

The  exaltation  passed,  and  he  looked  around  as 
if  afraid  somebody  had  detected  it. 

Then  in  a  big  chair  in  the  ingle-nook  he  reached 


52  A  MAN'S  REACH 

out  to  the  friendly  book-shelf  and  pulled  out 
Dante's  "  Divine  Comedy,"  turned  to  the  index, 
and  found  "  Francesca,  p.  37." 

He  found  the  page  and  Francesca's  words  be- 
came his  hope.  "  Love  that  exempts  no  one  be- 
loved from  loving."  "  Galleotto  was  the  book, 
and  he  who  wrote  it."  He  was  her  book.  She 
could  write  his  life  with  the  touch  of  her  spirit. 
He  felt  the  bite  of  her  beauty  leaping  through  the 
lattice  work  of  their  short  acquaintance. 

This  foolishness  wouldn't  do. 

He  put  the  book  back  and  tried  to  be  a  normal 
youth  by  jumping  into  his  overcoat  and  rushing 
out  of  the  house.  He  would  go  to  Forest-Hill, 
meet  the  boys — skate  all  day  and  forget  the  girl. 

Maybe  she  would  like  to  go!  She  looked  as  if 
she  skated — (did  every  beautiful  thing  upon 
earth:)  so  instead  of  taking  the  car  for  Forest- 
Hill,  he  cut  around  the  fountain,  threw  his  skates 
under  the  steps  of  the  "  Rest-House,"  crossed 
"  Belvedere,"  and  stood  on  the  corner,  uncertain 
— afraid. 

The  grass  was  still  green  in  the  Murray  yard, 
and  the  morning  fire  twinkled  through  the  library 
windows,  as  he  halted  by  the  tall  walnut  at  the 
corner  of  the  triangle,  and  caught  her  high,  clear 
tones  from  the  Murray  door-step.  In  a  minute 
Lettice  and  Mrs.  Corbin  were  chatting  down  the 
brick  walk  like  merry  twin-sisters:  Lettice  wore 


A  MAN'S  REACH  68 

a  suit  almost  the  color  of  his,  and  her  brown  hat 
was  tilted,  as  if  to  reveal  her  shining  hair  and 
the  morning  glory  of  her  face.  She  gave  Randolph 
a  careless  nod,  and  when  she  had  quite  passed  he 
heard  these  flippant  words : — "  Christmas  eve  and 
silly  little  presents!  We're  taking  the  stores  by 
the  forelock.  Good-bye !  " 

Randolph  stood  by  the  fence  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets  and  watched  Mrs.  Corbin  and  her 
daughter  go  down  the  street.  Then  turning  with 
a  fierce  "  I'll  be  dogged,"  he  went  to  "  Forest- 
Hill  "  as  fast  as  the  trolley  could  take  him. 

He  skated  furiously  all  day  to  forget  her,  but 
when  the  sun  dipped  behind  the  woods  and  the 
energy  of  the  crisp  day  faded,  she  grew  stronger 
and  clearer  in  his  mind — intensely  irresistible.  The 
curtness  of  her  morning  greeting,  after  the  night's 
cordiality,  dug  mercilessly  into  his  vanity — the 
suspicion  of  her  scorn  hurt  as  if  his  physical  self 
were  pricked  with  a  sharp  lancet.  He  must  have 
hasheesh.  Stopping  before  a  bar-room  he  wished 
he  were  twenty-one — but  he  did  not  go  in. 

Going  straight  to  the  dining-room  as  soon  as 
he  got  home,  he  poured  out  a  bumper  and  swal- 
lowed it,  then  he  took  the  glass  into  the  pantry, 
washed  it,  and  turned  it  down  on  the  pantry  shelf. 

The  wine  raised  his  self-esteem,  made  him  feel 
better  about  Lettice  Corbin — maybe  he  would  go 
to  see  her  after  tea! 


V 

THE  experience  of  that  Christmas  week  waved 
like  a  red  banner  across  two  lives:  as  another 
Christmas  week,  a  few  years  later,  always  flut- 
tered like  a  pall.  Curiously  and  easily  Lettice 
Corbin  and  Randolph  Turberville  glided  into  the 
dim  reaches  of  each  other's  lives,  but  the  harmless 
demonstrations  which  Randolph  practised  with 
other  girls  were  entirely  left  out  of  their  sweet, 
young  intercourse.  He  quickly  saw  the  wonders 
of  her  nature,  and  although  they  had  joke  and 
badinage,  there  was  never  the  least  cheap  senti- 
ment between  them. 

Once  they  were  off  on  a  brisk  walk  with  faces 
to  a  wild  red  sunset  which  flung  the  bare  branches 
clean  into  space,  and  shot  through  the  highest 
arch  of  the  Cathedral  tower  like  a  burning  mes- 
sage from  the  heart  of  God. 

"  Then  fire  was  sky  and  sky  was  fire  and  both 
one  ecstasy,"  she  quoted  slowly — meditatively. 

"  In  youth  I  looked  to  these  very  skies,  and 
probing  their  immensities,  I  found  God  there: — 
His  visible  power  " — he  responded. 

"  Comrade,"  she  whispered. 

"  Sweetheart,"  was  his  answer. 

She  was  suddenly  aloof,  remote,  gazing  west- 
ward with  a  rapt  devotion  which  he  dare  not  in- 

54 


A  MAN'S  REACH  55 

vade.  Young  as  she  was,  she  had  a  genius  for 
retiring  within  her  quaint  young  dignity,  which 
sweetly  forbade  the  least  intrusion.  She  was  only 
at  home  a  week  this  Christmas-time,  and  yet  that 
week  ever  hung  over  Randolph's  life  like  a  stretch 
of  translucent  atmosphere  high  above  earthly 
care.  In  this  wonderful  "  spirit-air  "  everything 
assumed  a  new  and  lovelier  shape;  it  was  a  sort 
of  heavenly  mist  which  obscured  the  real  day. 

In  these  days  the  little  Park  between  his  house 
and  hers  became  the  sacred  gateway  to  her  pres- 
ence; the  trees,  the  statues  standing  so  firmly  in 
the  grass  which  winter  skies  could  not  ungreen, 
the  spires  springing  gladly  beyond  the  trees,  the 
fountain  with  its  feeble  stream,  the  rounding 
paths,  even  the  rest-house  under  which  he  flung 
his  skates — all  became  for  his  red  young  passion, 
question  marks  as  to  her  probable  reciprocation. 

Their  moments  alone  were  not  frequent,  but 
they  held  eons  of  emotion  which  could  never  fade. 
Clouds  rose,  winds  howled,  ice  and  snow  piled  up 
between  them,  but  back  of  them  was  the  undying 
glow  of  youth's  first,  pure,  roseate  passion. 

She  had  read  voraciously  as  he  had  read.  Her 
Francesca  was  his  Francesca — her  Beatrice  his, 
too ;  a  line  from  this,  a  line  from  that,  would  evoke 
another  line  from  her  mental  "  Lumber-room," 
as  she  called  it;  and  they  twain  were  one  in  the 
kingdom  of  books,  on  whose  delicious  spicy 


66  A  MAN'S  REACH 

borders  they  loved  to  stand.  Sometimes  they  were 
two, — a  very  stern,  very  intolerant,  very  positive 
"  two  " ;  for  neither  was  accustomed  to  yield  an 
opinion.  Then  she  would  toss  her  little  head  and 
say  with  supreme  finality :  "  Oh,  well — never  mind 
— if  you  can't  see." 

Lettice  took  dinner  one  evening  with  some  girl 
friends,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Corbin  and  the  boys 
had  tickets  for  the  Academy.  Mrs.  Corbin  asked 
Randolph  as  a  great  favor  to  fetch  Lettice  home 
and  guard  her  till  they  got  back.  Her  parents  had 
rigid  ideas  for  the  deportment  and  protection  of 
Lettice,  but  they  felt  no  hesitation  in  leaving  her 
to  Randolph's  care:  a  Turberville  would  always 
protect  a  Corbin. 

Randolph  brought  Lettice  in  about  ten,  her 
parents  and  brothers  returned  from  the  Academy 
about  a  quarter  to  eleven.  Their  intercourse,  in 
the  Murray  library,  lasted  exactly  three-quarters 
of  an  hour — but  it  was  young  life. 

The  library  was  not  especially  distinctive  or  elo- 
quent. There  were  books  in  heavy  ornate  walnut 
cases,  tightly  locked,  like  captives  beyond  prison 
bars — prisoners,  not  friends.  Over  the  mantel- 
piece was  a  beautiful  portrait  of  a  woman  with 
dark  eyes,  bright  cheeks,  and  black  hair  scalloped 
around  her  face.  Lettice  had  pulled  the  sofa 
from  a  corner  where  it  slanted  into  place,  to  the 
front  of  the  fire,  and  put  a  table  behind  it  on  which 


A  MAN'S  REACH  57 

was  a  lamp,  a  vase  of  flowers,  some  magazines, 
and  the  evening  paper.  The  portrait,  the  soft, 
ample  sofa,  the  fire,  the  lamp  and  the  scattered 
books  humanized  the  formal  room  and  created 
a  cheery  coziness  into  which  Lettice  and  Randolph 
merrily  entered. 

"  Whe-ew !  "  she  breathed  as  she  threw  her  wrap 
on  a  chair,  fell  into  the  sofa  and  began  to  remove 
her  hat  and  gloves.  "  A  stupid  dinner  is  exhaust- 
ing and  indigestible.  Aren't  the  Trimbles  hope- 
less ?  Help  me  to  forget  them !  "  The  expression 
of  her  eyes  conveyed  the  impression  of  actual 
pain,  which  had  to  be  eased  very  quickly. 

Lettice  tucked  herself  into  a  corner  of  the  sofa, 
tapped  the  seat,  as  an  invitation  to  Randolph,  and 
gave  herself  to  enchanting  friendliness. 

The  young  man  experienced  an  alluring  near- 
ness, a  delicious  "  oneness  "  which  he  had  never 
known  before. 

"  How  many  people  do  you  know,"  she  asked, 
"  with  whom  you  are  perfectly  happy,  or,  per- 
haps better,  perfectly  comfortable?  " 

"  Not  a  blessed  one,"  he  answered  quickly. 

"  Not  a  blessed  one  ?  "  she  responded,  her  coun- 
tenance teasing  with  its  ripples  of  light,  its  tiny 
dimples  of  surprise. 

"  I  am  perfectly  miserable  with  you."  He  was 
going  to  tease,  too.  "  I  am  like  an  Alpine  walker 
horribly  near  a  crevasse;  an  aviator  with  hand 


68  A  MAN'S  REACH 

clutched  on  the  valve,  one  move  this  or  that  way 
means  death;  an  iron- worker  knocking  and  drill- 
ing on  a  slippery  roof — a  hair's  breadth  this  way 
or  that  way  and  he  is  gone." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  she  said,  looking  straight 
into  his  eyes.  "  I  don't  see " 

"  You  don't  ? "  He  stood  up  before  her. 
«  Well " 

Immediately  lowered  lashes  cried  "  Stop." 

Her  unspoken  command  was  inviolate,  and 
might  have  embarrassed  them  but  for  her  imme- 
diate self -adjustment. 

"  Take  the  Trimbles,"  she  began.  "  From  the 
moment  I  meet  them  until  I  have  left  them,  I  am 
conscious  of  a  terrible  effort  to  please,  and  a  sick- 
ening assurance  that  I  can't  do  it.  I  like  my 
friends  to  fit  like  a  kimono — with  nothing  binding 
or  scratching.  In  a  minute  after  I  met  you — I 
knew  you  would  do." 

Was  this  another  challenge  ? 

"  Indeed,"  she  added  very  quickly,  "  I  am  spoilt. 
I  have  lived  too  much  with  books  and  myself." 

"  You  flit  from  one  thing  to  another  like  a 
careless  red-bird,  and  seem  to  like  everybody " 

"  Red  bird !  buzzing,  flitting.  Good ! "  she 
laughed.  "  Let's  talk  sense !  Where's  the  light- 
wood?  We  don't  want  gas  or  lamps,  we  want  a 
chunk."  She  opened  a  big,  brass  box.  "  Throw 
it  on,  while  I  put  out  the  lights.  It  is  perfectly 


A  MAN'S  REACH  59 

right  and  proper,  for  Laneville  does  it."  She 
turned  out  the  lamp,  lowered  the  gas,  tucked 
herself  back  into  the  sofa  and  they  both  gazed 
at  the  spluttering  blaze  in  silence. 

"  Isn't  this  nice?  "  she  whispered.     "  Talk!  " 

The  influence  of  the  girl  and  the  warm  gold 
light  melted  Randolph  into  a  dreamy  monotone; 
words  didn't  matter,  he  meant  them  to  declare — 
"  I  love  you,  I  desire  you,  I  need  you ! "  They 
were  snatches  of  Tennyson,  of  Byron,  of  Brown- 
ing, of  Emerson. 

Her  thoughts  fled  from  cover,  too.  A  pillow 
was  between  them  and  now  and  again  she  spread 
her  hand  upon  it — her  slender  hand,  with  a  ruby 
ring  on  her  little  finger — once  it  touched  Ran- 
dolph's hand  and  thrilled  him. 

"  How  did  you,  a  strong,  active  boy,  find  time 
for  it  all  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  took  it.    How  did  you?  "  he  answered. 

"  I  ? — I  have  had  nothing  but  time.  I  have 
cheated,  I  have  stolen,  I  have  read,  read— ^-every- 
thing they  told  me  not  to;  and  I  have  thought. 
You  see  Laneville  can  only  associate  with  Deer- 
Chase,  Rosegill,  Mt.  Airy  and  Beverly  Park. 
Sometimes  the  children  at  the  various  mansions 
come  without  precision,  hit  and  miss;  and  then 
there  is  nobody  at  Deer-Chase  for  Laneville  to 
play  with — the  other  places  are  miles  and  miles 
away.  Then  Laneville  has  to  play  with  herself 


«0  A  MAN'S  REACH 

— so  instead  of  playing  always  with  myself  or  the 
boys,  I  have  played  with  the  fire  of  intellect,  and 
I  am  burned — I  am  scared,  I  don't  understand 
it  all,  but  I  want  to."  She  put  her  vivid  face  close 
to  the  eager  face  of  Randolph.  "  I  want  to  know, 
I  want  to  feel,  I  want  to  act — do !  " 

"  Don't  you  feel  ?  "  A  tell-tale  cadence  in 
Randolph's  voice  made  her  look — a  quick  ques- 
tion. She  got  a  spontaneous  but  wordless  answer 
which  made  her  look  away. 

"  Feel  ?  "  She  spoke  dreamily  now.  "  I  should 
think  so.  But  I  want  to  understand.  It  is  all 
such  a  chaos — tangles  of  wishes,  aspirations  and 
ignorance.  I  can't  sit  at  Laneville  and  dream  and 
knit  and  feed  chickens  day  after  day,  year  after 
year,  like  mama.  Dear  mama — she  has  never 
failed  to  arise  at  seven  o'clock ;  I  never  knew  her 
to  be  sick ;  she  has  a  precise  minute  for  the  smoke- 
house key,  the  garret  keys,  the  store-room  keys; 
a  precise  minute  for  each  meal;  a  minute  for  the 
Bible  and  Prayer-Book;  a  minute  for  all  of  her 
reading,  and  she  marks  her  places  with  a  cross- 
stitch  card;  a  more  than  precise  minute  for  bed; 
and  I  am  willing  to  express  my  solemn  and  re- 
ligious opinion  that  at  the  stroke  of  a  certain  min- 
ute she  falls  to  sleep.  Papa  is  like  her.  I  don't 
want  to  do  things  on  the  minute.  I  want  to  do 
them  when  I  feel  like  it.  See?  Understand?" 

Randolph  nodded  his  assent — he  was  afraid 


A  MAN'S  REACH  61 

to  speak  lest  he  break  the  pretty  sequence  of  her 
thoughts. 

"  Papa  is  just  like  mama,  he  and  she  are  two 
exactly  similar  halves  which  make  a  harmonious 
and  perfect  whole.  I  stay  by  myself  a  lot,  and 
I  have  thought  of  everything.  Sometimes  I  am 
scared  to  death  at  the  very  mystery  of  life,  and 
I  have  been  thinking  of  death  since  I  was  a  tiny 
child — haven't  you?" 

"  No — it  has  never  especially  bothered  me — it 
was  just  nature  and  law." 

"  I  remember  perfectly  the  very  first  day  that 
I  realized  death.  The  sunlight  was  dimmed  as 
if  it  were  filled  with  smoke,  the  very  world  seemed 
suddenly  cursed  with  a  blight.  I  couldn't  play. 
I  hung  around  mama's  chamber ;  she  was  darning 
papa's  socks,  and  crooning  old  songs  like  a  honey- 
bee's drone.  The  drone  fell  in  tune  with  my 
gloom.  '  Please  stop,'  I  cried. 

"  Mamma  looked  at  me  in  amazement.  '  Why 
aren't  you  playing  with  your  brothers  ?  '  she  asked 
seriously. 

"  *  Because  I've  got  to  die,'  I  answered.  Oh, 
I  remember  it  so  well.  Mama  drew  me  to  her 
and  spoke  volubly  of  the  bliss  of  seeing  God  and 
the  wonders  of  Paradise;  but  the  gloomy  fact 
obscured  any  heavenly  anticipations,  and  I  re- 
fused to  be  comforted. 

"  It  has  been  that  way  with  everything.    Facts 


62  A  MAN'S  REACH 

attack  me  suddenly  and  puzzle  me  to  desperation. 
Life  is  a  furious  eddy  and  I  a  tiny  leaf — swirling 
and  whirling ;  but  to  me  the  tiny  leaf  is  the  whole 
show.  Life  is  knowledge,  power,  religion,  love. 
I  have  to  know  all — haven't  I  ?  " 

Randolph  took  up  the  strain  and  ambled  on 
vaguely — trying  to  say  something  which  he 
couldn't. 

After  some  minutes  Lettice  began  again :  "  My 
mammy  was  comfortable.  I  have  never  been  per- 
fectly easy  since  I  grew  out  of  her  arms.  Did  you 
ever  have  a  mammy  ?  " 

"  Did  I  ?  "  Randolph  smiled.    "  Sure!  " 

"  And  did  she  pat  you  at  night  and  sing  '  sh — 
sh-ssh — sh  ?  '  Can't  you  feel  the  sand-man  tus- 
sling with  your  obstinate  eyes,  and  hear  her  faint, 
sibillant  'sh-ssh — sh-ssh — sh?'  How  I  wish  I 
could  once  more  cuddle  into  her  monotonous  mel- 
ody! In  the  summer  dusk  she  would  let  me  sit 
on  the  garden  steps  a  few  moments,  before  she 
put  me  to  bed.  Even  then  I  was  in  a  way  conscious 
of  mystenes :  the  third  terrace  with  its  tangle  of 
vines  and  shrubs  was  the  end  of  the  world;  and 
I  would  peer  into  its  blackness  and  wonder  and 
wonder;  just  as  I  am  peering  into  those  lightwood 
blazes  and  wondering  and  wondering  and  wonder- 
ing now.  You  think  me  silly,  don't  you?  " 

And  so  the  mighty  minutes  of  that  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  ended.  Not  a  personal  senti- 


A  MAN'S  REACH  63 

ment  had  they  uttered,  but  each  word  from  each 
lip  carried  a  world  of  meaning.  Boy  and  girl, 
forced  in  the  hot-house  of  precocious  imagination, 
had  handled  subjects  beyond  their  years.  Around 
them  fell  a  luminous  veil  of  sentiment  as  real  as 
the  yellow  blazes  of  the  lightwood  chunks.  They 
let  it  hang  and  warm,  they  did  not  call  its  name. 
They  did  not  acknowledge  to  themselves  that  it 
was  there.  The  thrill  of  life  shot  like  sparks 
through  the  smoke-clouds  of  thoughts;  but  the 
one  was  afraid  to  speak  and  the  other  afraid  to 
hear. 

After  a  pause  it  was  her  way  to  take  up  an  en- 
tirely new  subject  as  if  the  former  was  absolutely 
finished,  and  now  with  a  little  sigh,  she  began : 

"There  was  a  woman  at  the  Trimbles'  that  I 
could  not  stand.  I  suppose  she  is  pretty  in  her 
glaring  way ;  but  I  don't  believe  she  is  nice.  She 
had  a  lot  to  say  and  she  made  eyes  at  a  beautiful 
creature  that  she  called  '  Saint.'  Her  name  is 
Nestles." 

"  Kitty  Nestles — she  is  my  cousin." 

"  Your  cousin  ?  "  with  surprise. 

"  Yes, — one's  cousins  are  never  a  picked  lot. 
She  comes  to  our  house  and  I  went  crazy  over 
her  for  a  little  while."  Randolph  thought  that  a 
confession  was  imperative — he  never  intended  to 
have  a  concealment  from  Lettice. 

"You  did?" 


64  A  MAN'S  REACH 

"  Yes — for  a  little  while,"  he  repeated — looking 
down. 

"  Well — no  accounting  for  taste,  and  a  young 
boy  is  so  foolish."  Lettice  laughed  merrily  as  if 
for  forgiveness. 

At  present  Randolph  thought  that  even  the 
memory  of  Kitty  was  sacrilege  to  the  transparent 
purity  of  the  girl  beside  him. 

"  And  the  handsome  young  man  who  is  study- 
ing medicine  here — her  Saint?  " 

"  I  don't  really  know,  but  I  have  a  suspicion. 
She  has  a  foster  uncle  in  Albemarle  who  has  two 
sons,  Philip  St.  George  and  Robert.  She  used 
to  stay  a  great  deal  with  them.  Mrs.  Nestles  told 
us  that  Philip  was  very  clever  and  good-looking." 

"Philip  St.  George— what?" 

"  Cocke-Catlett." 

"  Now  I  know  all  about  them.  Old  '  Bremo  ' 
and  '  Timberneck  '  people." 

"  Exactly." 

"  And  that's  where  she  gets  her  Saint  ?  " 

"  Maybe  so,"  indifferently. 

"  He  reminds  me  of  a  porcelain  Apollo  in  a  pair 
of  soiled  hands." 

"You  are  old." 

"  Perhaps  so — there's  papa !  "  as  Mr.  Corbin's 
latch-key  scratched  in  the  door.  "  He  might  be 
in  an  unfavorable  mood."  She  sprung  up  and 
turned  up  the  gas, 


A  MAN'S  REACH  65 

The  charm  of  the  play  acted  as  an  emollient 
upon  Mr.  Corbin,  and  his  usual  dignity  was  gar- 
nished with  smiles  like  a  ring  of  parsley  around 
a  well-browned  joint.  "  Did  we  keep  you  too 
long?  "  he  asked  Randolph,  almost  affectionately, 
as  he  entered  the  warm,  bright  room. 

And  while  the  boy,  somewhat  shyly,  was  trying 
to  emphasize  the  seeming  brevity  of  his  pleasant 
vigil,  Mrs.  Corbin  was  insisting  that  he  should 
dine  with  them  the  next  evening. 

A  sense  of  their  friendliness  touched  Randolph's 
heart  pleasantly  and  pungently,  as  a  sip  of  peach- 
brandy  steals  into  the  physical  man.  He  felt  his 
future  suddenly  caught  into  theirs,  by  the  spear  of 
fate,  as  a  crochet  needle  firmly  twists  a  scarlet 
thread  into  the  purple  and  gray  of  a  half-done 
afghan. 

He  soon  said  good-bye,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cor- 
bin discussed  his  unusual  ease  of  manner  and  good 
looks  long  after  they  were  in  bed;  while  Lettice 
tingled  and  trembled  with  a  sensation  which  she 
did  not  understand. 

At  home  Randolph's  sensations  were  like  the 
buzzing  of  a  million  whipsaws — he  could  not  stand 
them.  He  was  not  wicked,  he  hurt  and  he  wanted 
ease ;  he  was  all  impulse,  not  meditated  wrong. 

Down  into  the  dining-room  once  more — this 
time  to  take  the  decanter  up-stairs  and  put  it  on 
a  table  beside  him.  It  was  empty  when  he  went  to 

5 


66  A  MAN'S  REACH 

bed.  He  had  drained  it  unconsciously  while  won- 
dering over  Lettice  Corbin.  Strange  that  this  was 
a  thing  he  did  not  regard  as  a  subject  for  con- 
fession, any  more  than  the  drinking  a  cup  of  tea 
or  a  glass  of  water. 

With  Lettice  it  was  different — a  million  little 
bells  were  ringing  in  her  soul  and  not  one  out  of 
tune.  She  swung  in  a  fresh  spring  world  of  mys- 
terious bud  and  strange  leaflet,  and  the  landscape 
was  veiled  with  a  faint  rosiness  that  would  be- 
come royal  crimson  as  the  years  wore  on.  It 
would  not  be  all  sunlight,  there  would  be  storm 
and  shadows;  but  they  would  breast  the  storm 
together — and  smile. 


VI 

THE  year  before  young  Randolph  Turberville 
went  to  the  University  his  mother  met  her  second 
great  disillusionment:  instead  of  one  ghastly 
secret,  her  heart  held  two:  the  boy  had  snapped 
her  rein,  and  the  elder  Randolph  was  a  ruin. 

The  vision  of  a  savior-son  had  become  a  farce ; 
for  only  a  few  days  ago  when  she  had,  with  tears 
in  her  eyes,  begged  Randolph  to  do  something  to 
save  his  father,  the  boy  had  almost  contemptuously 
replied :  "  You  might  as  well  ask  an  eye-syringe 
to  put  out  a  fire,  mother!  Cut  it  out — it  won't 
do!" 

"  You  don't  believe  in  personal  influence,  Son- 
Boy?" 

"  Oh,  I  believe  in  it  when  it  acts ;  but  I  know 
my  '  man/  mother — and  I  can  see  myself  preach- 
ing to  dad.  He'd  dismiss  me  with  a  fierce  *  Go 
to—  — .'  I'd  be  entirely  squelched,  and  as  severely 
reprimanded  as  if  I  had  received  a  slap  in  the 
face,  and  a  disdainful — '  Now  will  you  be  good?  ' 
No,  ma'am,  not  me." 

"  I  can't  imagine  anything  more  inspiring  than 
one's  son  declaring  his  principles,  and  by  the  very 
force  of  his  conviction  and  example  drawing  his 

67 


68  A  MAN'S  REACH 

mistaken  father  from  his  sins."     Chattie's  firm 
mouth  trembled  with  feeling. 

"  Oh,  mother — you're  a  '  corker.'  You're  so — 
^^ » 

"  So  old,  so  silly,  so  archaic — I  know  little  boy. 
And  you  are  so  young,  so  sure  of  yourself.  Take 
care,  take  care,  dear,  lest  you  fall." 

Randolph  had  a  cunning  way  of  silencing  his 
mother  with  affection.  Now  he  hugged  and  kissed 
her :  it  was  his  way  of  saying  "  Please  stop!  " 

Charlotte  understood  and  let  the  subject  drop 
for  the  present. 

Randolph  was  living  and  loving  in  his  young, 
crude  way.  He  and  Lettice  constantly  wrote  to 
each  other,  and  he  was  studying  much  harder  than 
usual  because  he  wanted  to  go  to  the  University 
the  next  year.  His  prime  reason  for  going  to  this 
famous  seat  of  learning  was  the  conviction  that 
he  would  make  the  "  foot-ball "  team.  Daily  he 
was  forcing  himself  into  the  realm  of  Man:  un- 
known to  his  parents,  he  belonged  to  a  club — the 
"  Green-Back  " — organized  primarily  for  inno- 
cent, boyish  sport;  but  evolving  into  a  snare — 
where  pennies  and  dimes  jingled  merrily  to  the 
seductive  tune  of  poker.  Sometimes  they  had 
beer  at  the  "  Green-Back,"  and  when  they  did, 
Randolph  was  very  jolly — stimulation  sharpened 
his  wits. 

As  yet  public  opinion  predicted  great  things  for 


A  MAN'S  REACH  69 

this  adorable  youth.  He  was  to  recover  the  pres- 
tige of  the  Turbervilles,  who  had  hitherto  been 
Beacon  Lights  in  old  Virginia. 

So  when  Randolph  was  eighteen,  he  went  into 
his  place  at  the  University — as  most  men  have 
done  elsewhere — even  Judas  Iscariot.  He  got  into 
the  good-clothes,  cock-sure,  heart-breaking,  jolly 
class  commonly  called  good  fellows.  He  was 
asked  to  join  the  Alpha-Omega  Society,  which  re- 
quired social  standing  and  courage  to  run  with 
the  boys.  Randolph  was  governed  by  that  mys- 
terious honor  system,  which  apparently  declares 
everything  mete  and  right,  except  the  performance 
of  those  vital  duties,  for  the  observance  of  which 
every  young  gentleman  is  supposed  to  enter 
college. 

Randolph's  life  was  now  his  own,  and  he  liked 
it ;  he  was  like  a  half -broken  colt,  who  has  kicked 
off  every  strap  and  buckle  that  restrained  him :  and 
races  along  with  head  erect  and  nostrils  distended 
upon  a  strange,  sweet  road.  He  went  to  bed  late, 
and  arose  late.  He  knew  every  field  and  hill  near 
the  University  before  he  had  been  there  a  month, 
and  every  pretty  girl  for  miles  around — although 
he  had  seen  none  who  held  a  light  to  Lettice 
Corbin.  He  attended  classes  irregularly,  and  be- 
came intimate  with  bar-rooms  and  other  inevitable 
irregularities  of  the  wee  sma'  hours.  He  inveigled 
his  mother  into  sending  him  a  fine  old  desk  and 


70  A  MAN'S  REACH 

table, — in  the  desk  drawer  he  kept  good  cheer  for 
his  friends,  and  upon  the  circular  dignity  of  the 
mahogany  table  he  and  his  companions  frequently 
gambled  all  night.  Randolph  was  feeling  his 
freedom — feeding  upon  the  sweets  of  the  honor- 
system — flying  triumphantly,  like  an  eaglet,  into 
the  ether  of  "  do-as-you-please." 

Now  and  then  he  made  brilliant,  if  spasmodic, 
dashes  in  his  classes,  and  astonished  the  faculty 
with  his  mental  agility.  Randolph  was  plunging 
everywhere,  instead  of  going  plumb  in  the  right 
direction. 

He  made  half-back  on  the  'Varsity  team,  and 
one  of  the  proudest  moments  of  his  life  was  the 
starting  for  Bolingbroke  on  November  the  twenty- 
eighth  to  tackle  Chapel-Hill  on  Thanksgiving  Day*, 
the  twenty-ninth. 

Thanksgiving  Day  broke  all  crimson  and  gold 
over  the  chimney  pots  of  Bolingbroke.  The  sun, 
at  first  a  round,  red  Mars,  bespoke  a  fierce  encoun- 
ter; but  later  it  powdered  Benjamin  Street  with 
gold,  filled  the  air  with  hope,  and  turned  the 
naked  branches  of  the  trees  into  polished  steel 
against  the  cloudless  sky. 

The  every-day  noises  of  cart  and  broom,  news- 
boy and  milkman  seemed  almost  impertinent ;  but 
presently  Benjamin  Street  broke  into  all  the  poetry 
of  voice  and  motion,  and  the  merry  treble  of  girl- 
hood was  lost  in  the  basso-prof  undo  of  college 


A  MAN'S  REACH  71 

yells.  The  air  was  still  and  crisp,  and  in  it  the  joy- 
ous train  fairly  danced :  while  everybody — old  and 
young — prophesied  either  for  Virginia  or  Chapel- 
Hill.  The  White  and  Blue  of  Chapel-Hill  flashed 
gaily  in  motor-car  or  afoot;  and  the  Orange  and 
Blue  of  the  University  flashed,  too,  in  brave 
security. 

Then  followed  a  sweeping,  lonesome  silence — 
why?  Bolingbroke  is  taking  its  famous  Thanks- 
giving lunch. 

Presently  everybody  comes  out,  in  waves  of 
dual  confidence :  tallyhos,  decked  with  Orange  and 
Blue,  draw  up  and  move  off  from  stately  door- 
ways in  trails  of  laughter.  Tallyhos,  decked  with 
White  and  Blue  draw  up  and  move  off,  too,  and 
their  gay  loads  laugh  in  even  greater  security. 

Sound  and  motion  die,  tallyhos  and  carriages 
are  no  longer  seen — the  game  is  on !  At  William 
Byrd  Park  humanity — eager,  electrified — strains 
the  bleachers  and  packs  the  grand-stand.  First  it 
beholds  the  White  and  Blue  with  a  thousand 
rooters  and  cheerful  melody.  They  mean  to  win ! 
But  when  from  two  busses  the  Orange  and  Blue 
leap,  a  wild  shout  fairly  shakes  the  expectant 
multitude,  while  "  Tow — Tow — Turberville — 
Turberville  "  sounds  from  ten  thousand  lips  as 
Randolph  Turberville,  in  contagious  confidence, 
smiles  upon  the  field.  Megaphones  magnify  the 
cries  of  the  cheer-leaders ;  brass  bands  blare,  and 


72  A  MAN'S  REACH 

one  universal  voice  seems  to  yell  "  Wah — who — 
wah !  Vir-gin-ia-a-a-a !  " 

Listen!  Carolina  pierces  Virginia's  clamor 
with: 

I'm  a  Tar-Heel  born, 

I'm  a  Tar-Heel  bred, 
And  when  I  die, 

I'll  be  a  Tar-Heel  dead. 

All  blood  is  tingling,  all  interest  is  as  tense  as 
a  fiddle  string.  It  is  the  extro-version  of  Boling- 
broke's  loyalty — the  manifestation  of  Carolina's 
courage  and  zeal. 

Randolph  Turberville  had  no  idea  that  Lettice 
was  a  witness  of  the  game,  until  the  short  inter- 
mission between  the  halves;  then  he  felt  some- 
thing warm  as  the  play  of  fire.  He  looked  over 
the  field,  and,  strangely,  caught  the  consecrated 
gaze  of  Lettice  Corbin's  eyes.  The  sympathy 
upon  her  face  was  glorious,  startling.  She  waved 
a  baton  gay  with  Orange  and  Blue  a  dozen  times 
and  then  settled  herself  suddenly  to  a  fixed  contem- 
plation. Her  attention  was  peculiar — entirely  dis- 
tinct from  the  commonplace  interest  of  the  big, 
still  multitude.  She  had  plainly  disengaged  her- 
self from  everything  else  in  heaven  above  and 
earth  beneath,  and  wound  her  will  around  Vir- 
ginia's team. 

One  could  tell  quite  as  easily,  by  the  interplay 
of  her  features,  how  her  fear  and  hope  ran — as 


A  MAN'S  REACH  78 

one  could  feel  the  joy  and  pain  in  the  melody 
of  a  Kubelik  or  Paderewski ;  or  see  the  sunlight 
and  shadow  in  a  Turner  landscape.  When  Vir- 
ginia scored  elation  stalked  like  a  flamingo  across 
her  heart  and  sent  its  gorgeous  plumage  to  her 
face.  Her  father  beside  her,  grave  and  ponderous, 
was  a  massive  oak  frame  for  her  reckless  and 
defiant  enjoyment. 

The  contesting  teams  were  nearly  enough 
matched  to  make  the  game  interesting.  It  was 
now  near  its  close.  Virginia  was  six  to  Carolina's 
nothing;  a  chance  play  or  rally  could  create  the 
possibility  of  tying  the  score;  and  Carolina,  with 
the  ball,  was  fighting  hard  to  tie  it. 

The  multitude  lost  its  breath,  then  caught  it 
with  a  shrill  inhalation:  Virginia  was  seven — 
Carolina  nothing.  The  enthusiasm  of  Lettice 
swept  her  face  with  ecstasy  which  almost  blinded 
Randolph's  parents,  who  greeted  her  as  she  was 
leaving  the  grand-stand.  The  girl's  hair,  slightly 
blown,  crawled  in  red  gladness  from  her  close 
fur  cap:  the  shell  pink  of  her  quiet  hours  had 
turned,  from  wind  and  feeling,  to  rich-red  discs 
upon  each  cheek ;  and  her  long  fur  coat  from  neck 
to  heel,  threw  the  clean-cut  joy  of  her  face  on  the 
crisp,  sun-swept  day.  It  was  disengaged  from 
physical  bondage,  and  trembled  like  a  star  in  the 
soft  tones  of  the  closing  afternoon. 


74  A  MAN'S  REACH 

"  What  a  wonderful  girl !  "  Chattie  said  to  her 
husband  when  the  Corbins  were  gone. 

"  Rather  queer,  but  very  pretty — and  a  '  sport ' ; 
I  like  her,"  was  Randolph's  commentary  as  Lettice 
and  her  father  drove  off  behind  a  splendid  pair  of 
bays.  "  That's  the  finest  team  in  town — it  must 
be  good  to  own  it !  " 

As  soon  as  possible  young  Randolph  was  at  the 
Murray  house  which  the  Corbins  had  taken  for 
the  winter  ever  since  the  glad  Christmas  of  the 
step-ladder  episode.  The  Murray  house  was  a 
landmark  in  Bolingbroke,  its  several  Murray  mas- 
ters had  been  given  to  generous  hospitality;  and 
now  that  the  only  surviving  child  of  the  late  mas- 
ter had  to  depend  for  subsistence  on  the  once  cozy 
home,  she  was  content  to  retire  to  a  boarding 
house  where  Mr.  Corbin's  generous  rental  kept 
her  in  ease  and  comfort. 

The  Turbervilles  and  Murrays  were  close 
friends  and  a  path  would  no  doubt  have  been 
beaten  from  the  little  gray  house  on  one  side  of 
the  Park  to  the  red  brick  house  on  the  other — even 
if  the  city  had  not  laid  off  the  broad  walk  across 
the  park :  even  if  a  young  gentleman  in  the  gray 
house  had  not  fancied  a  young  lady  in  the  red 
house  on  the  other  side. 

"  How  did  you  come?  "  was  Randolph's  trite 
greeting  to  Lettice,  as  she  entered  the  Murray 
drawing-room. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  75 

"On  the  '  choo-choo  '  train — how  else?"  she 
smiled. 

"  You  know  what  I  mean.  How  did  you  get 
off?  I  thought  the  rules  of  Sweet-Briar  so  hard 
and  fast,  that  no  girl  would  ever  get  off  for  a 
foot-ball  game." 

"  For  me,  Randolph,  there  is  an  authority  far 
above  Sweet-Briar — the  word  of  Mr.  Henry 
Corbin.  Papa  let  me,  just  for  to-day.  My  reports 
have  pleased  him.  I  just  had  to;  and  oh,  I'm 
so  glad.  Wasn't  it  great  ?  " 

"  Fine — splendid,  but  I  certainly  was  surprised 
to  see  you."  Randolph  was  a  delicious  blur  of 
confusion. 

"When  you  played?"  Lettice  saucily  asked. 
"  Did  you  always  expect  to  win?  " 

"I  felt  pretty  sure  all  the  time;  but  after  I 
got  in  the  game  I  had  a  sixth  sensation — a  queer, 
piercing  prick  in  my  determination :  I  cannot  ex- 
plain it.  It  was  as  sharp  in  my  judgment  as  an 
arrow  in  my  heart.  It  was  pain  and  it  was  bliss — 
you  needn't  laugh." 

"I'm  not  laughing,  I'm  thrilled."  The  girl 
drew  a  little  nearer  to  Randolph.  "  You  want  to 
know  what  that  queer  thing  was  ?  It  was  I — ME. 
True?  I  willed  you  should  win — and  you  won." 

"  Oh,  Lettice — why  don't  you  will  me  to  all 
good?" 

"  I  wish  I  could,"  she  said  slowly  and  tenderly. 


76  A  MAN'S  REACH 

"  But  wasn't  it  great?  I  can  never  forget  the 
glory  of  victory — we  tasted  together  of  it — didn't 
we  ?  Oh,  those  splendid  shoulders,  those  delicious, 
tousled  heads — if  I  were  a  man  I'd  play  to  the 
death.  Oh,  me,  I  am  nothing  but  a  miserable 
girl;  and  it's  knitting,  crochet,  bridge  or  gossip. 
No  wild  tumult  for  me,  but  I'll  never  forget  papa 
— it's  the  very  first  time  in  all  my  life  that  he  let 
me  do  something  just  because  I  wanted  to.  God 
bless  him  for  it!  Randolph" — suddenly  Lettice 
was  very  serious — "  Randolph,  I  came  to  see  you 
win,  to  help  you  to  win;  and  I  came  for  some- 
thing else,  too." 

"What  else,  Lettice?" 

"  To  ask  you  a  question — will  you  answer?  " 

"I  will."  Randolph  was  serious,  too;  he  felt 
something  unpleasant  coming. 

"  Do  you  drink — Randolph  ?  Do  you  play 
cards  for  money?  Are  you  very,  very  wild? 
Three  questions  instead  of  one."  She  smiled. 

"  Who  told  you  such  a  lie?  " 

"  A  friend  of  yours." 

"  A  friend  of  mine — bah !  " 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  me  that  you  are  not — so 
that  I  may  contradict  it."  Her  eyes  were  very 
steady  as  they  met  his. 

"  You  must  not  believe  all  you  hear,  Lettice." 

"  I  don't,  but  I'll  believe  you,  if  you  tell  me  that 
you  are  not  wild — dissipated." 


A  MAN'S  REACH  77 

"  Of  course  I'm  not,  Lattice— it's  bosh !  " 

"  I'm  so  glad — so  very,  very  glad."  She  held 
out  her  hand  to  him — he  took  it — and  there's  no 
telling  what  he  might  have  said  but  for  a  rather 
stern  "  Lettice !  Lettice !  "  from  above. 

"  It's  papa,"  she  said.  "  I  promised  not  to  keep 
him  waiting.  He  only  let  me  come  for  the  day, 
you  see;  and  my  train  leaves  at  six-ten.  Such  a 
glorious,  too-short  day !  Never  mind — '  Christ- 
mas er  comin'  soon.'  Mama  and  papa  are  thinking 
of  giving  me  a  house-party  at  Laneville  then, 
won't  it  be  fine?  " 

"  For  those  who  are  bidden — I 

"  You?  You  know — but  I'm  so  glad  you  told 
me  what  you  did." 

"  Come  on,  Lettice !  "  sounded  rather  ominous 
from  above. 

"  Wait  till  I  come  down  I  "  were  the  last  words 
of  the  girl  as  she  went  up  for  her  wraps:  soon 
she  returned  with  her  father  and  mother. 

She  was  slender  even  in  furs,  and  her  face  hung 
like  a  rose  against  their  sombre  softness.  She 
was  putting  on  her  gloves  too  deliberately,  when 
her  father  rather  impatiently  said :  "  Hurry  up, 
Lettice." 

Her  face  puckered  for  a  moment,  as  does  the 
face  of  a  little  child  when  its  nurse  says  bed-time, 
but  it  almost  instantly  cleared  as  she  told  Ran- 


78  A  MAN'S  REACH 

dolph  good-bye,  and  between  her  parents,  went 
out  of  the  house. 

Randolph  returned  to  the  University  the  next 
day,  but  before  he  went  he  called  on  Mrs.  Corbin 
and  went  to  the  station  with  the  Corbin  boys, 
one  of  whom,  James  Parke,  was  left-tackle  on  the 
'Varsity  team. 

Mrs.  Corbin  was  inclined  to  be  confidential, 
and  after  a  few  preliminaries  remarked  in  a  nerve- 
less way:  "We  are  not  exactly  satisfied  about 
Lettice.  She  has  queer  ideas  to  which  we  will  not 
submit.  Laneville  is  restraining — no  mischief 
there.  We  are  going  to  have  a  Christmas  house- 
party  for  her  and  our  boys,  and  we  are  going 
to  be  very  stern  with  ourselves  about  the  invita- 
tions. Lettice  is  now  seventeen;  in  another  year 
she  will  be  out,  and  it  is  very  important  for  her 
to  have  just  the  right  friends  and  only  those  of 
her  own  class."  Then  with  exquisite  condescen- 
sion— "  You  will  get  an  invitation,  very  soon, 
Randolph,  for  Mr.  Corbin  and  I  always  do  things 
in  time.  Irregularity  of  any  kind  would  kill  us." 

Randolph  regarded  this  pussy-cat  lady  criti- 
cally. Her  dress  was  gray,  and  her  gray  little 
voice  was  pitched  in  a  pale-gray  key ;  but  her  face, 
without  a  tell-tale  line,  did  not  change  throughout 
her  whole  recital.  If  she  were  pale  gray,  Mr. 
Corbin  was  certainly  deep  purple ;  how  could  pur- 
ple and  gray  have  produced  the  kaleidoscope  of 


A  MAN'S  REACH  79 

feeling  that  was  called  Lettice !    She  was  surely  a 
comet  from  a  twilight  sky. 

As  the  young  man  walked  back  from  the  red 
house  through  the  Park  to  the  gray  house  to  tell 
his  mother  good-bye,  the  swell  of  foot-ball  glory 
yielded  to  the  sweetest,  tenderest  sentiments  for 
Lettice  Corbin.  He  had  lied  to  her  in  the  Murray 
house  drawing-room  the  night  before,  and  he 
was  sorry.  But  why  should  he  harry  her  with 
miserable  details  when  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  turn  over  a  new  leaf?  The  beautiful  girl  with 
her  courage  and  gladness  had  put  something  won- 
derful in  his  soul — something  too  powerful  and 
wonderful  ever  to  permit  him  again  to  indulge 
in  any  questionable  pastime.  He,  this  blessed 
hour,  had  turned  over  a  new  leaf — and  he  never 
intended  to  soil  it.  He  was  young,  his  indiscre- 
tions were  only  wild  oats,  Lettice  had  delivered 
him. 


VII 

THEIR  house-party  for  the  coming  Christmas 
had  absorbed  the  energy  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Henry 
Corbin  ever  since  Thanksgiving.  The  list  of 
those  to  be  invited  was  expurgated  day  after  day ; 
and  now,  according  to  their  inviolate  opinion,  the 
twenty  young  ladies  and  gentlemen  finally  chosen, 
were  eloquent  witnesses  to  the  social  sense  of 
their  hosts-to-be. 

The  task  of  selection  had  been  a  very  serious 
business ;  each  candidate  for  the  honor  had  under- 
gone a  crucial  genealogical  and  moral  test — and 
now  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Corbin  sighed  with  relief,  for 
twenty  invitations  were  addressed,  sealed  with 
the  Corbin  crest  and  now  were  sweetening  in 
orris  in  Mrs.  Corbin's  desk  drawer.  The  conclud- 
ing words  of  each  of  these  orris-scented  notes 
were — "  All  must  be  at  Laneville  on  Christmas 
eve  to  put  up  the  wreaths,  fill  the  stockings  and 
make  the  egg-nog." 

It  was  a  great  honor  to  be  invited  to  Laneville 
for  its  reputation  was  national — to  a  degree  inter- 
national. Every  President  of  the  United  States 
had  been  entertained  there.  During  the  summer 
season  all  sorts  of  tourists  begged  the  privilege 
of  its  unusual  and  mellow  charm,  but  the  request 
was  always  politely  declined.  Therefore  to  be 
so 


A  MAN'S  REACH  81 

bidden  to  partake  of  this  feast  of  a  roseate  and 
exclusive  past,  for  a  whole  week,  was  a  courtesy 
not  to  be  lightly  treated. 

"  Henry," — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Corbin  were  toasting 
their  feet  before  the  fire  of  their  bedroom  in  the 
Murray  house,  just  before  retiring — "  I  am  just  a 
little  uncertain  about  Robert  Catlett — as  we  have 
not  seen  him  for  so  long,  and  I  remember  so  well 
what  a  wet  blanket  his  father  was  at  our  wedding." 
Mrs.  Corbin  was  a  woman  who  had  to  bother 
about  something,  and  usually  she  bothered  about 
the  wrong  thing. 

"  That  was  because  he  was  so  infatuated  with 
Eleanor  Cocke  that  he  had  no  eyes  for  anybody 
else.  He  never  was  so  serious  or  stupid  before. 
Henry  and  James  Parke,"  Mr.  Corbin  referred  to 
his  boys,  "  have  excellent  taste,  and  if  they  want 
Robert  you  may  be  sure  he  is  all  right." 

"  Maybe  so,"  Mrs.  Corbin  sighed. 

When  the  Corbins  left  Laneville  in  Middlesex, 
for  the  Murray  house  in  Bolingbroke,  early  in 
November,  they  set  it  in  good  order  for  their 
return  at  Christmas.  Every  rug,  curtain,  screen 
and  blanket  was  in  place,  and  the  stupendous  de- 
tails of  kitchen  and  store-room  were  skilfully  and 
minutely  arranged.  Accomplished  servants,  who 
still  called  them  "  Master  "  and  "  Mistiss,"  had 
inherited  their  customs  from  generation  to  gen- 
eration; and  during  the  Corbins'  absence  had 


82  A  MAN'S  REACH 

ceased  not — day  or  night — to  carry  out  their  min- 
ute injunctions  for  drawing-room,  dining-room, 
kitchen  and  stables. 

Mrs.  Corbin  moved  a  little  from  the  fire,  her 
pink  flannel  dressing  gown  was  about  to  scorch, 
and  spoke  again  in  a  mauve  key :  "  We  have  under- 
taken a  risky  business :  six  days  of  trying  to  make 
young  people  happy.  I  find  myself  depending 
upon  Randolph  Turberville.  Don't  you  think  him 
very  unusual,  Henry  ?  " 

"  Remarkable !  I  never  saw  a  more  attractive 
fellow.  I  trust  he  will  make  up  to  his  mother, 
what  his  father  has  so  persistently  denied." 

"  I  just  don't  believe  he  can  do  anything  else." 
After  a  pause  Mrs.  Corbin  continued  rather 
timidly,  "  He  and  Lettice  are  very  fond  of  each 
other." 

"  Very."  This  was  as  much  as  Mr.  Corbin's 
sense  of  propriety  would  allow  him  to  say. 

Lettice  in  a  letter  to  Randolph  poked  a  lot  of 
innocent  fun  at  her  parents'  efforts  to  exhibit  her 
privately.  "  They  are  having  a  sort  of  fair,"  she 
wrote,  "  not  of  pincushions  and  needle-books,  but 
of  Virginia  traditions — for  theirs  is  the  kingdom 
of  heaven.  Traditions  have  been  known  to  be 
stupid,  and  I  am  depending  upon  you  to  electrify 
them,  when  they  collect  at  Laneville." 

Randolph  had  replied :  "  Count  upon  me  for 
anything — everything." 


A  MAN'S  REACH  83 

The  plan,  worked  out  with  such  minute  pre- 
cision by  the  elder  Corbins,  began  with  the  gath- 
ering of  their  guests  at  the  Murray  house  in 
Bolingbroke  on  December  the  twenty-third;  or 
rather  those  of  their  guests  who  must  pass  through 
Bolingbroke  in  order  to  get  to  Laneville.  All 
who  were  convenient  to  the  Rappahannock  River 
on  which  Laneville  so  proudly  stood,  would  come 
by  steamboat  to  the  Laneville  wharf. 

To  the  Corbins  it  was  very  meet  and  proper,  for 
their  hospitality  and  ciceronage  to  begin  hours 
and  hours  before  the  young  folk  even  started  for 
Laneville.  Mr.  Corbin  would  not  for  worlds 
allow  Lettice  to  travel  a  moment  without  a  chap- 
erone,  and  he  had  already  fetched  her  from  Sweet- 
Briar  to  Bolingbroke  on  the  twenty-second. 

Charlotte  Turberville  had  seen  much  of  the 
Corbins  during  this  autumn  and  had  heard  much 
of  their  house-party.  She  knew  that  those  who 
would  go  with  the  Corbins  from  the  Murray  house 
would  leave  the  Southern  Station  in  Bolingbroke 
at  four  o'clock  on  December  the  twenty-third. 
She  also  knew  that  Lester-Manor,  the  station  at 
which  the  party  would  disembark,  was  about  fif- 
teen miles  distant  from  Laneville,  and  that  the 
carriage  journey,  to  and  fro,  was  no  trifling 
undertaking:  therefore,  it  would  be  very  discon- 
certing for  any  guest  not  to  appear.  Suppose  her 
own  son  were  to  disappoint  the  Corbins — horrible ! 


84  A  MAN'S  REACH 

As  Chattie  sat  before  her  twinkling  library  fire, 
this  twenty-third  of  December,  Randolph's  life 
was  like  a  string  of  beads  that  she  held  in  her 
hand:  each  bead  an  episode,  a  laugh,  a  cry,  a 
kiss,  a  frown,  a  day,  a  month,  a  year. 

Randolph  did  not  appear  at  home  all  day,  and 
when  time  came  for  the  Corbin  party  to  start  from 
the  red  house,  Chattie  stole  into  the  Park  to  watch 
— he  might  be  there. 

She  saw  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Corbin  come  out  of  the 
iron  gate,  and  lead  the  line  of  merry  youth  around 
the  triangular  fence  to  Main  Street  for  the  trolley, 
and  she  scarcely  could  restrain  the  cry :  "  Please 
stop  and  tell  me  where  is  Randolph — my  boy?" 

At  half  after  three  o'clock,  the  next  day,  Simon 
conducted  a  young  man  to  Charlotte  Turberville 
in  the  library. 

"  Randolph?  "  was  her  greeting. 

"  All  right,"  was  the  young  man's  answer,  for 
he  was  an  optimist.  "  You  remember  Robert 
Catlett?" 

"Of  course,  I  never  could  forget  '  Bill-Bob's  ' 
smile." 

Robert  Catlett  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then 
with  his  characteristic  directness  informed  Chattie 
that  Randolph  had  sprained  his  ankle,  and  that  he 
had  run  in  to  tell  her  so  that  she  would  not  be 
frightened. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  85 

"  Randolph  is  the  whole  show,"  he  added,  "  and 
I  don't  know  what  we'll  do  without  him.  I  wish 
I  were  not  in  such  a  hurry,  but  I've  only  fifteen 
minutes  to  catch  my  train  and  for  two  of  us  to 
disappoint  the  Corbins  would  be  dreadful.  Good- 
bye. Randolph's  in  the  hall,  he'll  tell  you  the  rest." 

Robert  Catlett  was  mistaken:  Randolph  never 
told. 

This  Christmastide  was  the  first  test  of  Lettice 
Corbin;  and  she  found  that  she  could  suffer  and 
yet  seem  to  be  glad.  At  the  first  word  of  Ran- 
dolph's disaffection  Mrs.  Corbin  simply  flopped, 
but  Lettice  immediately  administered  an  heroic 
remedy  in  the  form  of  irresistible  hilarity. 

This  house-party  had  to  "  go,"  and  her  mother 
had  to  keep  step  with  her  determination  nolens 
volens.  The  ranks  of  her  being  cried:  "  Surren- 
der!" but  the  little  plumed  captain,  the  god-in- 
her,  marched  boldly  at  the  head  of  the  disheart- 
ened troop,  and  it  stepped  quickly  to  the  music  of 
her  strange,  strong  will.  Lettice  was  crushed  by 
Randolph's  absence,  for  she  had  counted  so  trust- 
fully on  him :  but  she  rallied  her  discomfited 
forces,  dazzled  and  infatuated  her  guests,  and  at 
the  end  of  that  memorable  Christmas  time  nine 
young  men  adored  her,  while  nine  young  women, 
although  fascinated  also,  called  Lettice  "  a  trifle 
queer." 


86  A  MAN'S  REACH 

Around  the  immense  Laneville  dinner-table, 
brought  from  England  in  1710,  sat  a  jolly  party 
of  twenty-five  a  few  evenings  after  Christmas  Day. 
Everybody  was  in  the  best  humor,  and  subject 
after  subject  was  generally  and  generously  dis- 
cussed. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  elaborate  dinner  a 
duel  was  fought  by  Lettice  and  Steve  Harrison 
with  the  deep  voice  of  Mr.  Corbin  remonstrating 
now  and  then  like  the  blare  of  a  kettle-drum. 

"  No  intellectual  giants  at  the  University  now," 
was  Mr.  Corbin's  first  note. 

"  Never  were,"  was  Harrison's  rejoinder — 
"  the  Brobdingnags — Henry,  Marshall,  Jefferson 
— all  went  to  William  and  Mary,  and  I  always 
thought  it  mean  in  Jefferson  to  ruin  his  own  Alma- 
Mater  with  a  fine  University." 

Mr.  Corbin  cleared  his  throat,  the  sound  was 
always  ominous,  and  Buck  Bernard,  to  save  the 
hour,  announced :  "  Randolph  Turberville  is  the 
cleverest  man  at  Virginia  now." 

"  I  differ  with  you."  Steve  Harrison  was  em- 
phatic. "  That  man  is  at  this  table."  All  eyes 
turned  to  Robert  Catlett,  who  was  wrestling  with 
a  side-bone  of  the  turkey.  "  Randolph  is  dippy — 
nutty." 

"  And  so  are  you,"  Lettice  spoke  sharply. 
"  Randolph  at  least  is  also  fun :  his  ideas  tag  and 
one  has  to  tag  back." 


A  MAN'S  REACH  87 

"  Instead  of  Laneville,  he  chose "  Steve 

was  not  going  to  allow  himself  to  be  squelched. 

"  A  sprained  ankle." 

"  Sprained  ankle?  "  Steve  snickered,  and  most 
of  the  table  with  him. 

"What  do  you  all  mean?"  'Lettice  was 
flushed.  "  Didn't  Randolph  sprain  his  ankle, 
Robert?" 

"  He  did."  Robert  Catlett's  tone  was  like  a 
spoonful  of  powdered  alum  in  a  pail  of  muddy 
water. 

The  kettle-drum  once  more  called  to  order: 
"  What  is  the  moral  tone  of  Virginia,  now  ?  " 

"  Pretty  good."  Robert  Catlett,  as  has  been 
said  before,  was  an  optimist. 

Steve  snickered  again :  "  In  spite  of  idlers,  f  oois 
and  booze-artists." 

"  Isn't  Charlottesville  dry?  "  The  kettle-drum 
was  persistent. 

"  Yes,  but  Bolingbroke  is  not,  or  Baltimore. 
It's  barrels  now  instead  of  glasses:  and  indecent 
bedrooms  instead  of  decent  bar-rooms." 

"  Steve!  "  from  half  a  dozen. 

"  Turberville " 

"  Imported  a  barrel  of  ginger-ale  last  week  ?  " 
Catlett's  voice  fell  on  the  good  old  name  as  snow 
falls  on  a  soiled  fleece. 

"  Let's  change  the  subject !  "  The  shrill  tensity 
of  Lettice  popped  like  a  toy-pistol — the  table 


88  A  MAN'S  REACH 

jumped.  "  We  girls  don't  care  to  hear  any  more 
of  it." 

"  Please  care!  "  The  eyes  of  Catlett  met  those 
of  Lettice.  "  You  are  the  very  one  to  care,  for 
if  you  care,  you  will  cure." 

Again  Mr.  Corbin  was  inquisitive :  "  Most  of 
you  live  in  the  Fraternity  houses,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Buck  lives  with  Mrs.  Nestles."  Steve  was 
still  sore.  A  sly  smile  went  around  the  table  like 
a  thistle  chain. 

"  Yes,  Saint  Catlett  and  I  know  a  good  thing 
when  we  find  it — Saint  is  Bill-Bob's  pretty 
brother."  Steve  flushed  a  little  in  spite  of  his 
bravado. 

"  I  thought  Mrs.  Nestles  lived  in  Bolingbroke." 
Lettice  was  puzzled  by  Catlett's  gravity. 

Bill-Bob's  voice  cool  as  a  lettuce  leaf  again 
brought  momentary  relief :  "  The  old-fashioned 
boarding  houses — where  ladies  like  Mrs.  Booker 
and  Mrs.  Berkeley  mother  the  boys — are  best." 

"  P-s-s-s-s-s-s-h !  "  softly  hissed  Steve  Harrison. 

Later  in  the  evening,  everybody  gathered  in  the 
hall,  where  there  was  a  fiddler  and  a  bowl  of 
eggn°g-  Old  "  Shines  "  could  make  the  fiddle 
talk,  and  "  Snow-bird-on-the-ash-bank,"  "  I-got- 
another-one-chum-chum-a-loo,"  "  Ole-sukey-blue- 
skin,"  "  'Possum-up-the-gum-tree,"  and  many  an- 
other wild  melody  set  the  young  folk  into  delirious 
motion.  Old  "  Shines  "  kept  time  with  his  eyelids, 


A  MAN'S  REACH  89 

and  called  out  the  figures  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 
Now  and  again  he  broke  forth  rapturously,  into — 

'Possum  up  de  gum  tree, 

Cooney  in  de  holler, 
Shake  yo'  foot  an'  tu'n  aroun'? 

I  gie  you  harf  a  dollar. 

or — 

Ole  Sukey  Blueskin  fell  in  love  wid  me, 
She  'vited  me  to  her  house  to  hab  a  cup  o'  tea. 
An'  er  what  did  Sukey  git  fer  supper? 
Chicken  foot,  duck  foot,  apple  sass  an'  butter. 

There  is  an  inspiring,  almost  elemental  merri- 
ment peculiar  to  vast  halls  in  old  Virginia  Manor- 
houses.  It  is  hasheesh  to  care,  and  expresses  itself 
eloquently  in  sinuous  motion  and  joyful  laughter. 

To-night  the  dance  ended  with  the  Virginia 
Reel,  which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Corbin  led.  Then  to 
the  big  silver  bowl,  in  which  the  golden  eggnog 
foamed.  Lettice  in  white  with  a  green  ribbon 
in  her  hair,  flushed  and  radiant,  wanted  "  Vive 
1'Amour,"  and  Mrs.  Corbin  went  to  the  piano  to 
play  the  accompaniment.  At  first,  as  is  generally 
the  case,  there  was  a  momentary  shyness,  but  pres- 
ently Steve  Harrison,  who  had  not  quite  forgiven 
Lettice,  raised  his  glass  and  began: 

Some  time,  some  people  get  a  wee  bit  pettish, 

Vive  la  compagnie. 
But  here's  my  forgiveness  to  pretty  Miss  Lettice, 

Vive  la  compagnie. 

With  a  glad  rush  came  the  chorus — 
Vive  1'amour,  vive  1'amour,  vive  la  compagnie. 


90  A  MAN'S  REACH 

Lettice  now  quickly  filled  her  glass, 

Come  fill  up  your  glasses,  but  not  with  the  best ; 

Vive  la  compagnie 

And  drink  to  the  health  of  our  news-boy  guest, 
Vive  la  compagnie. 

Vive  1'amour,  vive  1'amour,  vive  la  compagnie. 

Maria  Bland  gaily  took  up  the  strain : 

Come  fill  up  your  glasses,  to  an  odious  comparison, 

Vive  la  compagnie. 

The  dear-little,  sweet-little,  critical  Harrison, 
Vive  la  compagnie. 

Vive  1'amour,  vive  1'amour,  vive  la  compagnie ! 

Lettice  was  an  adorable  care-free  siren,  as  she 
sang  again: 

Come  fill  up  your  glasses,  and  here  is  good  luck, 

Vive  la  compagnie. 

To  good-hearted,  good-natured,  merry  young  Buck, 
Vive  la  compagnie. 

Vive  1'amour,  vive  1'amour,  vive  la  compagnie ! 

And  Buck  Bernard,  not  to  be  outdone,  replied 
lustily : 

Come  fill  up  your  glasses  (has  any  one  caught  her?), 

Vive  la  compagnie. 

And  drink  to  the  health  of  the  Corbins'  fair  daughter, 
Vive  la  compagnie. 

Vive  1'amour,  vive  1'amour,  vive  la  compagnie ! 

The  spirit  of  fun  and  foolishness  was  con- 
tagious; every  boy  and  girl,  and  even  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Corbin,  made  toast  after  toast:  a  kindly 
sally  fell  on  every  name,  and  when  ideas  got  scarce 


A  MAN'S  REACH  91 

and  laughter  began  to  lower,  Lettice  struck  a 
softer  key: 

Come  fill  up  your  glasses — a  lovely  job, 

Vive  la  compagnie. 

And  drink  to  the  health  of  brave  Bill-Bob, 
Vive  la  compagnie. 

Vive  1'amour,  vive  1'amour,  vive  la  compagnie ! 

Steve  nudged  Buck  and  whispered :  "  Poor 
Randolph!"  while  a  spurt  of  unchecked  feeling 
crimsoned  Robert  Catlett's  face;  he  was  caught 
off  guard. 

Lettice  noticed  the  telltale  glow,  and  turned 
her  face  away — it  hurt  her. 

They  went  their  several  ways  at  twelve  o'clock : 
Lettice  in  her  pretty  room  sat  by  the  fire  motion- 
less, sad.  She  was  the  evening  star  burnt  out. 
She  was  puzzled,  wretched,  aching  with  a  queer, 
tingling  smart.  Something  was  the  matter  with 
poor  Randolph;  something  awful,  she  reckoned: 
yet  she  couldn't  permit  a  lot  of  miserable  gossip 
at  her  father's  dinner  table  to  go  unrebuked. 
Little  tattling  pests — she  was  going  to  teach  every 
mother's  son  of  them  a  lesson :  she'd  break  their 
hearts  as  if  they  were  china  cups,  and  then  throw 
every  piece  away. 

Through  the  days  that  followed  there  was  in- 
deed devotion  and  then  agony  among  the  men,  as 
Lettice  with  a  bleeding  heart  bewitched  them. 


VIII 

THE  college  career  of  Randolph  Turberville 
was  not  peculiar,  as  there  were  scores  of  young 
men  who  led  lives  of  even  more  reckless  indul- 
gence than  did  he.  In  the  eyes  of  his  fellows  his 
mental  and  physical  gifts  made  his  frailties  par- 
donable, yet  within  himself  he  knew  that  in  the 
midst  of  his  excesses  there  would  come  tormenting 
memories  of  Lettice, — only  to  be  relieved  by  reach- 
ing for  another  glass. 

It  was  during  his  last  year  at  college  that  Let- 
tice, at  twilight,  often  made  a  ball  of  her  slender- 
ness  in  the  corner  of  his  mother's  library  sofa,  and 
yielded  to  the  confidences  of  trustful  intimacy. 
The  older  woman's  sense  of  duty  constrained  her 
one  evening  to  tell  the  girl  impersonally  what 
havoc  love  could  do. 

"  I  understand,  I  understand."  Lettice  un- 
wound herself  from  the  sofa,  stood  up,  drew  a 
long  breath  and  clasped  her  hands  behind  her. 
"  But  if  one  has  it,  one  has  it — and  that's  the  end. 
'  Thou  shalt  not  kill.'  Love  lives,  breathes,  feels, 
grows :  if  one  kills  love,  one  is  a  murderer."  The 
girl's  wild  spirit  disengaged  itself  from  her  slen- 
der self  and  entered  the  Holy  of  Holies  of 
Chattie's  soul. 

92 


A  MAN'S  REACH  98 

"  Of  course  love  hurts,"  Lattice  went  on,  "  but 
if  it  is  mine — I  must  take  it.  A  hunchback  child 
hurts;  a  blind  son  hurts;  but  how  can  a  mother 
throw  them  away  ?  No.  Love  lives,  breathes,  and 
if  it  ever  comes  to  me,  Mrs.  Turberville,  it  is  mine 
forever  and  forever.  Bless  your  dear  soul!  I 
understand,  it  was  mighty  hard  for  you  to  speak, 
but  you  spoke.  That  is  all  right." 

As  Lettice  was  leaving  that  day  she  saw  a  new 
book  on  psychology  lying  on  the  table :  "  I  am 
just  crazy  about  this,"  she  tapped  the  book  affec- 
tionately. "  I  feel  something  strange  and  sting- 
ing here,"  touching  her  bosom.  "  I  want  to  use 
it  for  those  who  haven't  got  it — I  want  to  help, 
heal,  cure."  Then  suddenly  added :  "  Did  you 
know  that  papa  was  going  to  take  me  to  *  Vir- 
ginia '  for  finals?  " 

Charlotte  Turberville  smiled  her  sympathy  in 
the  girl's  pleasure. 

And  in  June  Lettice  did  go  to  the  University 
to  see  Randolph  graduate.  Her  father's  class  had 
a  reunion  and  Mr.  Corbin  took  her  up;  while  Mrs. 
Corbin  stopped  in  Bolingbroke  to  purchase  fruit 
jars,  pickling  spices  and  other  domestic  odds  and 
ends.  When  they  arrived  at  the  University,  Mr. 
Corbin  went  to  his  dear  Mrs.  Berkeley's,  and  Let- 
tice was  put  under  the  soft  wing  of  Charlotte 
Turberville  at  the  new  Alpha-Omega  Frat  house. 
June  was  at  her  best,  and  under  her  rose-wreathed 


94  A  MAN'S  REACH 

dominion  the  charm  of  the  University  was  deli- 
ciously  enhanced. 

No  Turberville  had  ever  failed  to  make  his 
ticket,  not  even  Randolph's  father:  so  Randolph 
was  only  doing  what  his  forefathers  had  done, 
except  in  the  last  tremendous  vault  over  the  heads 
of  his  fellow  students.  This  gave  him  keen  elation 
and  fresh  confidence  in  himself.  He  was  going  to 
forget  all  his  crooked  ways,  and  walk  hencefor- 
ward and  forever  in  the  straight  and  narrow  path 
that  leads  to  life  everlasting.  The  appearance  of 
Lettice,  in  her  radiant  assurance,  tuned  all  dis- 
cordant keys;  and  youth,  life  and  love  rejoiced 
exceedingly. 

Everybody  watched  these  lovers,  for  lovers 
they  were,  even  to  the  naked  eye.  The  rare  dis- 
tinction of  the  girl  recalled  the  vital  energy  of 
her  forefathers;  and  her  vibrant  beauty,  her 
strange  audacity,  her  perfect  poise  entranced 
young  men,  and  recalled  to  soberer  folk  the  belles 
of  the  old  White  Sulphur  and  Fortress  Monroe, 
who  had  come  from  their  fathers'  plantations  in 
their  fathers'  carriages  with  maids  and  band- 
boxes. 

The  love-making  of  this  daughter  of  tide- 
water and  this  son  of  the  city  of  seven-hills  went 
well  with  the  verdure  and  stately  beauty  of 
Thomas  Jefferson's  classic  buildings.  Under  the 
trees  Lettice,  a  piece  of  trembling  gladness,  rather 


A  MAN'S  REACH  95 

stilled  than  troubled  Randolph's  mad  pulses ;  and 
the  aureole  of  her  pretty  head,  softened  by  the 
shadow-leaves,  envisioned  the  gold  of  her  inner 
self  which  he  saw  almost  as  plainly. 

Lettice  was  not  always  with  Randolph;  she 
danced  with  everybody,  challenged  the  attention 
of  old  and  young;  and  her  smiles,  like  swallows, 
skimmed  hither,  yonder,  everywhere.  She  was 
thrilled  with  Randolph's  valedictory  speech; 
something  within  her  burst  its  bonds,  soared  be- 
yond her  will,  and  drew  her  senses  to  a  point  of 
acute  and  exquisite  delirium.  At  the  close,  from 
where  she  sat,  she  saw  the  crowd  crown  his  efforts 
with  hand-clasps  and  heartening  words ;  and  when 
she  was  leaving  the  hall  with  him  they  came  face 
to  face  with  Bill-Bob  Catlett. 

"  Fine,  Ran,  fine !  "  was  his  greeting.  "  When 
I  get  into  trouble  I'll  send  for  you  to  help  me  out." 

"  All  right,  Bill-Bob,  I  can  promise  to  do  so 
with  impunity,  for  you  will  never  get  into  trouble: 
but  if  ever  you  do — I'm  your  man." 

When  Catlett  had  passed,  Randolph  turned  to 
Lettice  very  seriously :  "  He  is  the  finest  fellow 
in  the  world;  no  mollycoddle — either.  Often  and 
often  he  has  tried  to  save  me,  and  quite  as  often  I 
have  requested  him  to  mind  his  own  business  and 
showed  him  the  door  of  my  room.  His  fidelity 
is  beautiful — our  families  are  very  intimate,  you 
know.  It  hurts  you,  Lettice,  to  think  that  I  could 


96  A  MAN'S  REACH 

ever  be  rude  to  Bill-Bob  Catlett,  and  I  am  sorry  I 
ever  was,  and  I  certainly  shall  never  be  so  again." 

Finals  were  over,  Randolph  was  a  B.L.  and  an 
M.A.,  and  the  supreme  moment  was  at  hand. 
Never  in  the  years  of  their  rich  acquaintance  had 
Randolph  told  Lettice  he  loved  her,  but  in  action 
he  had  declared  and  redeclared  his  passion.  Their 
young  courtship  was  one  of  suppressed  sentiment. 
The  deed  of  their  devotion  was  graven  in  letters 
of  fire  upon  each  heart,  but  it  lacked  their  bold, 
full  signatures. 

The  same  thing  hindered  Randolph  that  had 
induced  him  to  return  the  consecrated  bread  to  the 
rector  of  the  Holy  Comforter:  his  ideal  of  the 
man  worthy  to  partake  of  that  sacred  feast  was 
not  himself;  his  ideal  of  the  man  fit  to  pluck  the 
white  rose  of  Lettice  Corbin's  heart  was  not  he. 
His  aspiration  was  really  high,  and  when  attain- 
ment receded  he  ached  spiritually  and  turned  to 
artificial  comfort. 

His  life  at  college  had  been  lurid,  tempestuous; 
but  Lettice  had  never  hectored  or  badgered  him 
over  it :  her  warning  had  been  gentle  as  the  even- 
ing breeze  that  fans  a  fevered  brow.  Her  spirit, 
Randolph  believed,  had  shrivelled  at  bad  news  as 
a  flower  cut  from  its  life-giving  stem  wilts  in  a 
cruel  sun. 

Finals  were  over !  Lettice  was  soon  off  to  Lane- 
ville;  Randolph  would  go  the  round  of  country 


A  MAN'S  REACH  97 

houses;  he  was  a  popular  fellow.  They  had  but 
one  more  evening  together.  For  hours  they  had 
been  dancing  joyously — suddenly  the  dance  wear- 
ied them,  they  wanted  each  other  and  the  pale, 
wan  night.  There  was  a  moon,  but  pile  on  pile 
of  cloud  obscured  it. 

They  stole  from  the  great  ball-room,  sense  and 
soul  quivering.  As  they  stepped  down  the  long, 
wide  stairway  to  the  lawn  he  touched  her  arm :  it 
was  cool,  soft  as  an  Easter  lily ;  it  made  her  young 
purity  as  real  as  the  marble  over  which  they  trod. 
It  put  a  prayer  on  his  lips : 

"  God  help  me !    God  help  me  to  be  good !  " 

Lettice  wore  the  gauzy  dress  with  the  silver 
butterflies,  and  in  her  hair  was  another  silver 
butterfly  fluttering  with  little  white  stones.  For 
a  while  they  wandered  over  the  historic  turf, 
wordless;  up  and  down,  up  and  down  a  dozen 
times ;  like  little  children  they  held  a  rosy  apple  in 
their  hands — too  good  to  eat.  When,  at  last,  they 
sat  down  upon  an  iron  bench  that  stood  under  a 
low-spreading  elm,  Lettice  began : 

"  I  am  so  sorry  it  is  almost  over." 

"Over?"  Randolph  was  emphatic.  "Just 
begun." 

"  Aren't  you  crazy  to  begin  to  work?  "  after  a 
long  pause. 

"  I  ought  to  be.    Of  course  I  am." 

7 


98  A  MAN'S  REACH 

"  You  must  not  let  a  blade  of  grass  grow  under 
your  legal  feet,  Randolph.  Are  you  sure  that 
Bolingbroke  is  the  best  place?  " 

"  Yes,  I  reckon  so.  I  have  thought  of  Okla- 
homa and  Texas,  but  oh,  me,  they  are  so  far  away 
from  you  and  mother;  besides,  the  Turbervilles 
have  a  season  ticket  to  the  Bolingbroke  bar." 

"  Sometimes  a  man  tries  harder  when  he  is  far, 
far  away  from  home,  and " 

"  Will  you  go  far  away  with  me?  "  Randolph 
interrupted. 

"  No."  Lettice  answered  saucily  as  she  tapped 
Randolph's  arm  with  her  fan. 

"  Well,  then?  "     Another  long  silence. 

Passion  like  a  cataract  was  sweeping  boldly 
over  a  dam  of  moss:  above  its  roar  sounded  a 
clear,  imperative  whisper: 

"  Lettice !    Lettice !  "     No  more. 

"  Randolph."     Breathed  rather  than  whispered. 

"  You  know,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  A  little  bit." 

"  You  never  could  know  all,  Lettice,  because 
there  are  not  words  enough  in  every  tongue.  But 
I  love  you  wildly,  madly,  dearly,  so  dearly.  Let- 
tice, sweetheart,  blessed  little  sweetheart,  will  you 
be  my  wife?  " 

She  could  not  speak.  Her  silence  was  emotion 
crystallized. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  99 

"  Do  you  love  me  Lettice  ?  " 
"  Y-e-e-s."    Where  was  the  color  of  the  rose- 
flame? 

"Will  you  be  my  wife?" 

Again  she  could  not  speak. 

A  strong  arm  fell  around  her  slender  waist; 
her  soft  hand  removed  it. 

"If  you  love  me  darling,  why  don't  you 
speak?  " 

"  I  am  afraid." 

"Of  me,  Lettice?" 

Randolph  fairly  felt  the  tremble  of  her  lips; 
the  surge  of  her  senses:  both  the  man  and  the 
woman  were  bent,  tossed,  alive  to  the  great 
mystery. 

"Lettice?" 

"  Randolph." 

"Afraid  of  me?" 

"  Are  you  good,  Randolph  ?  " 

"  Who  is  good,  darling?  " 

"  Are  you  good  as  you  can  be  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  far  from  good,  Lettice.  You 
know."  Very  humbly.  "  But  only  try  me,  try 
me — see  how  good  I'll  be !  " 

There  was  another  eloquent,  teasing  silence. 

"  Don't  you  love  me  enough,  Lettice,  to  be 
my  wife?  "  His  strong  arm  once  more  encircled 
her  waist.  "Lettice.  Sweetheart.  Wife?" 


100  A  MAN'S  REACH 

The  girl  caught  her  breath  and  raised  her  face 
to  the  clustering  elm  leaves.  There  was  not  enough 
prudence  in  the  universe  to  restrain  them.  They 
were  one! 

The  night  brightened — "  the  world  received  at 
once  the  full  fruition  of  the  moon's  consummate 
apparition." 

They  had  few  words  of  their  own.  Great 
thoughts,  absorbed  long  before,  fell  from  their 
lips  like  snatches  of  hymns  and  Bible  texts  fre- 
quently fall  from  the  lips  of  those  on  the  edge  of 
Paradise. 

"  Christ  rises,"  Randolph  whispered.  "  Mercy 
everywhere !  Lettice,  sweetheart,  don't  be  afraid 
— I'm  going  to  slay  every  demon  in  my  path." 

"  Like  a  man,  Randolph,  like  a  man?  " 

Love's  ways  ?  So  wonderful,  so  tender,  so  pas- 
sionately pure.  Still  as  the  genius  of  Praxiteles, 
upon  the  iron  bench  they  sat — invaded,  sweetened, 
conquered  by  the  precious  carelessness  of  love — 
till  the  lights  in  the  ball-room  went  out :  then  they 
had  to  return. 

At  the  door  of  the  Alpha  Omega  Frat  house, 
where  Mrs.  Turberville  awaited  them,  they 
stopped. 

Lettice  was  very  grave  as  they  finally  said  good- 
night. 

"  It  is  done,  Randolph,  for  good  and  all.    No 


A  MAN'S  REACH  101 

matter  what  we  are,  what  we  do  we  cannot  escape 
— while  I  am  I,  and  you  are  you." 

To  the  ears  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Henry  Corbin 
floated  rumor  of  the  deplorable  inclinations  of 
Randolph  Turberville,  and  their  conscientious' 
minds  were  divided  as  to  the  best  course  to  pur- 
sue :  whether  to  bind  Lettice  to  the  safe  seclusion 
of  Laneville,  or  to  expose  her  to  the  constant 
temptation  of  Turberville's  attraction  and  allow 
this  young  gentleman  to  run  the  gauntlet  with 
others  whose  greater  worthiness  Lettice  must  at 
last  perceive. 

About  mid-summer  a  chance  decision  of  their 
daughter  settled  the  question.  A  distant  cousin 
who  owned  a  cottage  at  Newport  invited  Lettice 
for  a  visit  of  two  weeks:  and  at  the  same  time 
another  kinswoman  asked  her  to  spend  the  same 
two  weeks  at  Virginia  Beach.  Lettice  insisted 
upon  accepting  the  latter  invitation,  notwithstand- 
ing the  superior  advantages  of  the  former.  The 
straw  that  deflected  her  usually  good  taste,  the 
elder  Corbins  suspected,  was  Randolph  Turber- 
ville: if  he  could  make  up  the  odds  against  Vir- 
ginia Beach  and  Newport,  Rhode-Island — he  was 
indeed  dangerous.  Mr.  Henry  Corbin,  therefore, 
did  not  lease  the  Murray  house  in  Bolingbroke  for 
the  winter  months  after  Randolph  Turberville 
graduated  from  the  University.  If  this  young 


102  A  MAN'S  REACH 

man  had  been  blessed  with  the  immediate  influence 
of  Mr.  Corbin's  daughter,  perhaps  he  might  have 
been  able  to  resist  the  allurements  incident  to  his 
young  manhood.  The  superlative  emotion  of  the 
early  winter  was  his  passion  for  Lettice,  and  his 
dream  of  a  home  with  her  quickened  his  energies. 
Yet  at  the  same  time,  he  felt  a  strange  timidity  at 
the  very  thought  of  her.  Her  transcendent  loyalty 
and  purity  awed  him:  she  was  snow  upon  the 
dizzy  heights  of  his  soul-hills :  deep  down  in  the 
valleys  of  his  being  were  dank,  soggy  places  where 
the  reflection  of  the  dazzling  snow  did  not  strike. 

His  office  taken  and  well  furnished  by  an  ador- 
ing and  ambitious  mother,  he  began  voraciously 
to  read,  to  think,  to  write.  His  mind  was  a 
tempest  of  intention;  and  yet  every  moment  of 
his  life  he  had  the  sensation  of  being  chased  by 
a  rabid  beast.  He  had  to  do  and  do,  go  and  go, 
to  escape  it.  He  attended  the  various  courts  to 
listen  and  learn;  he  studied  great  law  cases;  he 
considered  social  questions;  he  felt  his  pulses 
springing  toward  God.  He  wrote  to  Lettice 
Corbin  daily,  at  first;  he  beheld  life  as  opportu- 
nity— full  and  glorious;  and  yet  he  could  not 
escape  the  deadly  fangs  of  the  beast. 

These  various  interests,  emotions,  activities, 
made  a  continual  whirligig  in  Randolph's  soul. 
He  needed  tonic,  bracing;  and  he  loitered  till  the 
beast  caught  up  and  poisoned  his  intentions  with 


A  MAN'S  REACH  103 

the  red  juice  of  his  great  jaws.  There  were  dis- 
ciples of  the  beast  in  Bolingbroke  as  well  as  at  the 
University  and  they  were  waiting  for  Randolph 
with  a  glass  and  "  Here's  to  you !  " 

The  suggestion  became  at  length  too  strong  for 
Randolph's  will,  too  seductive  for  his  badly  trained 
forces,  and  the  "  lidless  eye  of  the  hard  world 
saw  him  fall." 

Every  afternoon  he  would  call  at  his  club,  the 
Old  Dominion,  where  the  good- fellows  gathered ; 
Steve  Harrison  would  invite  a  dozen  or  so  to 
"  have  something " ;  Billy  West  could  not  let 
Steve  get  ahead  of  him;  then  Brown  must  treat, 
and  Robinson,  and  Page  and  Turberville.  Then 
they  all  did  it  all  over  again,  and  went  home  only 
when  they  could  stay  no  longer.  Up  yonder  above 
the  fumes  was  the  warning  loveliness  of  Lettice, 
and  Randolph  had  to  take  "  another  "  to  ease  the 
disturbance  caused  by  her  phantom  presence. 

Before  the  young  man  knew  it,  business,  litera- 
ture, journalism  (  for  Randolph  had  prepared  sev- 
eral articles  on  vital  questions  which  had  created 
considerable  comment),  home  life,  social  life, 
Lettice,  love,  had  yielded  to  an  implacable  and  sin- 
ister authority.  Inch  by  inch  he  descended  into 
the  bottomless  pit  of  unrestrained  appetite.  How- 
ever he  never  was  a  brothel  drunkard,  a  low 
gambler,  a  profane  libertine.  His  "  bouts  "  were 
confined  to  the  secret  chambers  of  the  Old  Domin- 


104  A  MAN'S  REACH 

ion,  the  secluded  apartments  of  his  boon  compan- 
ions, or  his  own  office  fitted  so  beautifully  for  the 
student  and  the  lawyer,  but  degraded  to  a  retreat 
for  questionable  hilarity. 

Randolph  was  always  going  to  stop.  He  was 
always  perfectly  able  to  stop,  whenever  he  felt 
like  it.  This  is  the  drunkard's  battle-cry.  The 
terrible  monster,  that  grips  him  with  a  thousand 
teeth,  is  but  a  docile  playmate,  who  will  desist  the 
moment  he  is  sternly  ordered  to  do  so. 

The  existence  of  young  Turberville  was  a  sud- 
den elevation,  a  fearful  and  quick  depression. 
The  chorus  of  his  efforts  and  his  temptations 
clanged  through  the  cells  of  his  being,  now  pealing 
the  strophe  of  repentance,  now  the  anti-strophe 
of  license  and  sin.  Still,  although  bound  with  the 
cords  of  a  suggestion,  he  longed  for  a  manhood 
that  could  protect  Lettice  Corbin;  a  sonship  that 
could  fold  the  cares  of  a  glorious  mother  and  put 
them  aside  forever.  His  higher  sensations  trem- 
bled beyond  the  slimy  pools  of  his  daily  acts. 

Weariness,  stimulation,  false  ecstasy,  prostra- 
tion, more  stimulation,  exhilaration,  a  tumble,  a 
floundering  in  the  mud-holes,  then  more  alcohol 
to  soothe  the  broken  tissues  of  bruised  resolutions. 

Husband  and  son  went  the  same  cloudy  way; 
but  like  parallel  lines  they  never  met. 

More  than  the  pleading  of  Chattie  and  the 
warning  of  his  real  friends  did  the  sight  of  his 


A  MAN'S  REACH  105 

father  make  Randolph  realize  the  danger  of  the 
road  on  which  he  trod.  Randolph  so  well  re- 
membered a  confident,  merry,  delightful  father, 
who,  in  his  boy-eyes  held  the  world  in  a  sling. 
The  sight  of  him  now  showed  the  hectic  flush 
which  told  that  consumption  was  in  his  blood. 

The  older  Randolph  no  longer  conveyed  the 
slightest  illusion:  he  was  an  undisputable  fact. 
He,  who  was  so  dapper,  so  correct  in  dress  and 
deportment,  required  Chattie's  constant  vigilance 
to  be  either  neat  or  polite.  Her  son  watched  her 
solicitude  with  admiration  and  awe — of  what  re- 
markable stuff  was  she  made  ?  She  yielded  to  his 
father  a  strange,  gruesome  deference  which  em- 
phasized her  scarred  heart,  her  almost  divine  pity. 
Randolph  was  staggered  by  his  mother's  courage : 
well-dressed,  calm,  proud,  gentle,  she  went  un- 
murmuring her  lonely  way.  Randolph,  the  father, 
was  shaky  from  debauches,  he  ate  not  enough  for 
a  child,  slept  only  when  sodden  with  wine  or 
opiates,  and  when  with  his  family  seldom  emerged 
from  a  ghastly  silence.  His  fortune  had  gone 
long  ago  and  his  maintenance  was  entirely  from 
Chattie's  bounty.  And  she  gave  her  all,  heart  and 
purse  so  royally — so  kindly. 

Randolph,  her  husband,  must  always  be  neat, 
shaven,  new:  nothing  old  or  shabby  would  she 
for  a  moment  allow.  He  was  still  herself.  Once 
in  a  while,  however,  after  days  and  nights  away, 


106  A  MAN'S  REACH 

her  son  would  shudder  at  the  truth — shabbiness, 
slovenliness,  decay :  then  the  gray  in  the  too-long 
beard  was  like  snow  upon  some  old  stubblefield. 
His  father — himself — doom — natural  and  inevi- 
table consequence. 

Randolph  had  not  been  to  Laneville:  he  had 
spent  several  weeks  with  the  Corbins  at  the  White- 
Sulphur  the  past  summer,  but  later  in  the  year 
Mr.  Corbin  had  been  told  certain  things  by  James 
Parke  and  Henry  which  made  him  forbid  Lettice 
to  hold  any  communication  with  Randolph  Tur- 
berville.  At  first  Lettice  rebelled  terribly,  and 
refused  to  believe  the  false  gossip  till  she  asked 
Charlotte,  and  Charlotte  answered.  Then  she 
wrote  the  letter. 

Randolph  was  not  surprised :  he  knew  it  had  to 
come,  yet  he  trembled  at  its  tremendous  signifi- 
cance, its  heroic  calm. 

DEAR  RANDOLPH: 

I  should  prefer  to  let  things  drift;  but  neither  my  self- 
respect  nor  papa  will  permit  me  to  do  so.  You  fooled  me, 
and  I  have  tried  to  help  you,  to  keep  you  from  fooling  me 
again.  I  don't  think  I  have  said  anything  very  clearly, 
but  we  had  the  faculty  of  thinking  together,  didn't  we? 
Well,  it  is  as  if  we  had  never  spoken,  never  thought,  never 
felt.  It  is  all  over. 

It  is  hardest  on  me:  our  world  will  say  "Randolph 
Turberville  didn't  play  fair  with  Lettice  Corbin."  I  prefer 
this.  I  would  hate  for  the  world  to  say  that  I  didn't  play 
fair  with  you.  I  would  much  prefer  to  be  wounded  by  you, 
than  to  wound  you. 

What  you  and  I  thought  by  the  fire,  on  the  street,  at 


A  MAN'S  REACH  107 

the  University,  is  very  sacred  to  me;  holy  as  memorial 
flowers  on  a  pure  white  altar.  I  could  never  mock  it.  Ah, 
well,  good-bye,  comrade,  fellow-thinker,  seer  of  the  blazes 
— until  when?  Ever?  Never? 

Good-bye,  LETTICE. 

LANEVILLE,  January  3ist. 

Randolph  wrote  many  answers  to  this  letter; 
but  he  never  sent  one. 

It  was  late  in  the  following  March  that  Ran- 
dolph met  Lettice  in  the  Capitol  Square,  near  the 
State  Library.  The  sight  of  her  staggered  him. 
She  evinced  no  feeling,  whatever,  beyond  a  gentle 
cordiality.  She  had  even  in  this  little  time  since 
he  saw  her,  grown  away  beyond  the  Lettice  that 
Randolph  knew.  She  offered  a  noble,  strange 
kindness;  her  high  voice  had  dropped  to  a  soft 
fulness ;  her  manner  was  almost  parental,  and  her 
face  no  longer  a  flame  but  a  steady,  roseate  glow. 
No  broken  heart  about  her — rather  an  infrangible 
spirit  that  was  able  to  mend  anything. 

She  carried  a  black  book  in  her  hand.  Randolph 
referred  to  it. 

"  It  is  the  *  Virginia  Magazine  of  History  and 
Biography/  for  July,  1900;  I  am  taking  it  back 
to  get  another,"  she  explained.  "  I  am  studying 
Genealogy;  I  am  trying  to  find  out  exactly  what 
you  and  I  come  from." 

"  Do  you  care  what  I  come  from,  Lettice?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do."  She  answered  very  slowly. 
"  What  one  is  depends  in  great  measure  upon 


108  A  MAN'S  REACH 

what  one  was.  I  care  very  much  about  what  you 
were  a  hundred  years  ago,  what  you  are  now,  and 
what  you  are  going  to  be." 

Randolph,  bewildered  by  her  gravity  and  self- 
possession,  did  not  say  a  word ;  and  Lettice  added 
in  a  cheerier  mood :  "  I  am  here  for  a  little  shop- 
ping before  sailing.  Papa,  mama  and  I  are  going 
to  Germany  for  a  year :  poor  papa  has  something 
that  may  be  serious,  and  he  is  sent  to  Germany 
for  the  '  waters.' ' 

Their  talk  was  brief,  and  as  Randolph  went 
down  Bank  Street,  swept  with  a  sickening  regret, 
he  remembered  that  she  had  not  asked  him  to  come 
to  see  her;  indeed  she  had  not  mentioned  where 
she  was  or  who  was  with  her. 

No  matter  who  was  with  her,  even  if  a  dozen 
fathers  and  mothers,  he  was  going  to  find  her, 
fall  on  his  knees  before  her,  confess  his  crimson 
sins,  and  swear  to  her  and  high  Heaven  that  he 
would  never  fail  her  again.  He  could  stop  for- 
ever for  her :  he  only  needed  the  sight  of  her  to 
make  him  forsake  the  evil,  and  cling  to  the  good. 

But  a  hurricane  raged  in  the  young  man's  soul, 
and  only  one  thing  could  still  it.  His  senses  clam- 
ored for  a  comforter  that  was  not  Lettice  Corbin. 
For  the  next  day  or  two,  he  hid  in  one  of  those 
mysterious  places  into  which  those  who  "  look 
upon  the  wine  "  may  retire ;  to  the  despair  of  those 
that  love  them  and  await  them  at  home. 


IX 

"  IT  is  very  nice  to  find  our  daughter  a  philoso- 
pher, Isabella!  When  I  rendered  my  verdict 
against  Randolph  Turberville,  I  looked  for  a  tem- 
pest that  would  rend  our  house  asunder.  Instead 
Lettice  is  more  reasonable,  more  remarkable  than 
she  ever  was :  it  shows  that  if  one  does  one's  duty 
ail  will  be  well."  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Corbin,  on  the 
river  porch,  were  watching  Lettice  and  Bill-Bob 
Catlett  strolling  slowly  up  the  rose  walk. 

Bill-Bob  Catlett  had  gone  to  the  Theological 
Seminary  from  the  University  and  had  taken  Holy 
Orders  the  previous  June.  His  father's  lack  of 
finances  had  cut  his  University  career  short,  and 
he  was  only  there  one  year  with  Randolph  Tur- 
berville :  he  was  a  visitor  at  the  time  of  Randolph's 
graduation.  As  the  friends  of  Bill-Bob  scanned 
the  upward  climb  of  his  years,  they  could  discern 
nothing  but  ceaseless  effort  crowned  with  peaceful 
satisfaction.  No  apprehension  or  uneasiness  for 
Robert  Catlett !  He  was  the  comfortable  sort. 

This  young  man  and  Lettice,  strolling  along, 
did  not  seem  especially  to  impress  Mrs.  Corbin. 
Rather  did  she  think  of  the  miscreant — Randolph. 
"  Oh,  it  was  dreadful,  very  dreadful,  Henry:  I  can 
hardly  believe,  yet,  that  Randolph  Turberville — 

109 


110  A  MAN'S  REACH 

that  beautiful,  charming  creature — ever  did  ter- 
rible things.  I've  often  wondered  if  Jimmie  and 
Henry  were  not  over  jealous  for  their  sister.  ..." 
Mrs.  Corbin's  expression  was  distinctly  regretful 
as  she  saw  Bill-Bob  and  Lettice  coming  nearer 
and  nearer. 

"  Tut,  tut,  Isabella !  Nonsense !  Facts  are 
facts;  and  it  may  not  be  long  before  you'll  see 
that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  broken  heart." 
Mr.  Corbin's  grave  countenance  relaxed  into  pro- 
phetic satisfaction. 

"  Well,  all  I  have  to  say  " — Mrs.  Corbin  could 
go  no  further — the  young  people  were  at  the  door. 

Upon  the  face  of  Lettice  Corbin  was  undiluted 
astonishment:  if  the  quiet  serenity  of  Laneville 
had  suddenly  changed  to  the  wild  clamor  of  Wall 
Street  no  greater  surprise  could  have  pinched  her 
features;  while  Catlett's  firm  step  and  steady  eye 
betokened  a  will  to  accept  a  painful  circumstance. 

"  Come  in,  Mr.  Catlett."  Mr.  Corbin  pushed  a 
chair  toward  Bill-Bob.  "  Twenty- four  hours  are 
not  enough  for  Laneville;  why  do  you  make  your 
visit  so  short?  " 

"  I  won't  get  home,  you  see,  before  Friday  after- 
noon and  Saturday  is  always  busy."  Bill-Bob's 
hands  grasping  the  arms  of  the  old  porch  chair 
expressed  coercion,  control ;  "  but  I'm  glad  of  even 
a  day  at  Laneville.  It — it " 


A  MAN'S  REACH  111 

"  Is  too  little  pleasure  for  the  trouble,"  Lettice 
broke  in. 

"Pleasure?"  Catlett's  low  question  only 
reached  the  ear  of  Lettice  who  had  dropped  into 
a  chair  beside  him. 

"  You  are  looking  thin,  Mr.  Catlett :  a  week  of 
the  '  salt '  would  give  you  a  half-dozen  pounds, 
and  you  need  them.  You  know  we  are  sailing  on 
Saturday  a  week,  and  you  will  not  be  likely  to 
find  us  here  for  a  long  time :  '  a  bird  in  the  hand,' 
you  know.  I  am  afraid  you  are  working  too 
hard."  Mr.  Corbin  was  neither  felicitous  or  face- 
tious to  people  he  did  not  like. 

"  Work  never  hurts,  Mr.  Corbin,  and  really  I 
am  very  well.  I  tramp  a  lot  up  and  down  hill; 
my  parish,  you  know,  covers  twelve  miles  of  moun- 
tain country.  I  love  my  work;  it  is  like  rubbing 
a  kettle  that  is  covered  with  the  '  black '  of  years. 

"  When  the  metal  begins  to  shine,  I  feel  like  I 
am  doing  something  sure  enough.  I  can't  stop 
rubbing  for  long  and  I  must  go  back."  The 
steadfast  gleam  of  the  young  man's  eye,  as  he 
spoke  reminded  Lettice  of  a  beacon  light  in  a 
battered  tower:  the  rest  of  Bill-Bob's  face  was 
troubled  in  spite  of  himself. 

"Do  you  live  alone,  Mr.  Catlett?"  Mrs. 
Corbin  was  always  keen  for  domestic  details; 
mountains  and  soul-saving  did  not  especially 
appeal  to  her. 


112  A  MAN'S  REACH 

"  I  have  been  living  alone,"  Bill-Bob  took  out 
his  watch  and  then  looked  toward  the  stables, 
"  but  my  only  brother,  Saint  George,  is  with  me 
now.  He  is  not  very  robust,  and  we  like  to  keep 
him  in  the  country  as  much  as  possible;  but  he 
hankers  for  the  excitements  of  the  city.  I  have 
him  now  and  I  am  going  to  try  to  keep  him  in- 
definitely. My  father  has  a  good  farm  near  Char- 
lotteville,  and  it  seems  a  pity  that  neither  of  his 
sons  chose  his  profession,  which  he  quite  set  his 
heart  upon." 

"  What  is  your  brother's  profession  ?  "  Mrs. 
Corbin  asked. 

Catlett  smiled.  "  Saint  is  a  near-writer,  Mrs. 
Corbin, — a  most  unfortunate  occupation.  When 
one  is  a  near-writer,  one  is  even  more  tenacious 
than  if  one  were  a  real  writer." 

"  But  if  one  is  a  near-writer,  is  there  not  always 
a  chance  of  one  becoming  a  real  writer?  Isn't  it 
like  every  other  near  thing?  "  Lettice  was  inter- 
ested in  Saint. 

"  I  don't  think  it  is — it  is  a  genus  all  by  itself. 
Saint  is  a  lovely  nature."  A  peculiar  softness 
diffused  itself  over  Catlett's  face.  "  You  never 
met  him  ?  "  turning  to  Lettice. 

"Never,"  the  tone  of  Lettice  was  regretful; 
"  but  every  time  I  hear  his  name,  I  want  to  see 
him  worse  than  ever.  Is  he  susceptible,  romantic, 
easily  impressed?  " 


A  MAN'S  REACH  113 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is.  Isn't  that  our  '  trap '  ?  " 
Bill-Bob  arose  as  a  nervous  little  sorrel  to  a  run- 
about drew  up  to  the  door.  "  I  am  mighty  sorry 
to  say  good-bye."  He  shook  hands  with  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Corbin,  jumped  in  the  run-about  with  Lettice, 
and  they  drove  off  to  the  post-office,  where  Catlett 
would  join  the  mail-carrier  and  continue  on  to 
Lester  Manor,  the  station  on  the  Southern  Rail- 
road where  the  train  passed  for  Bolingbroke  and 
Albemarle. 

Her  parents  called  Lettice  a  philosopher,  but 
to  their  harnessed  minds  the  sort  of  philosopher 
that  Lettice  really  was  could  never  appear. 
Lettice  was  on  a  quest;  the  kind  of  a  quest  that  a 
child  of  Laneville  had  never  before  dared  to 
make. 

When  she  was  forced  to  send  the  letter  to  the 
man  she  loved,  her  heart  would  have  withered 
but  for  this  consolation,  "  I'll  cure  him  yet." 

A  multitude  of  ideas  had  telescoped  into  one 
burning  command  from  the  lips  of  her  God :  '*  Go 
thou  and  find  what  is  the  obsession  of  drunken- 
ness; and  when  thou  hast  found  out,  bring  the 
answer  to  ME  !  " 

So  Lettice  had  begun  her  quest.  She  sat  at  the 
feet  of  science  as  far  as  she  could  in  a  secluded 
country  place.  She  studied  Randolph's  genealogy. 
It  touched  hers  in  a  dozen  ways,  although  they 
were  not  nearer  than  sixth  cousins ;  but  their  ances- 


114  A  MAN'S  REACH 

tors  were  Burwells,  Carters,  Robinsons,  Pages, 
Nelsons,  Digges.  Her  father's  library  was  her 
first  laboratory.  Of  course  the  written  word  is 
no  end  of  a  snob,  and  Lettice  had  to  read  between 
the  lines ;  but,  as  we  all  know,  neither  history  nor 
genealogy  are  worth  anything  without  a  vivid 
imagination. 

Lettice  watched  the  pageant  closely  as  the  brave 
adventurers  came  from  England,  to  project  a  fas- 
cinating civilization,  exemplified  at  Laneville  even 
until  to-day.  The  master  was  king ;  he  rode  under 
God's  sky  as  if  it  were  his  own,  and  a  day's  march 
would  not  cover  his  principality.  He  builded, 
planted,  gathered,  made  merry  or  serious  as  he 
wished. 

Such  a  life  made  for  clear  political  ideas,  cour- 
age, hospitality  unequalled,  a  personal  freedom 
both  picturesque  and  dangerous.  The  Virginia 
planter,  dashing,  fearless,  compelling,  romantic! 
Was  the  license  of  his  appetite  a  menace  to  his 
race? 

Lettice,  the  philosopher,  in  the  dark  days  be- 
tween the  letter  and  her  sailing,  spent  much  time 
in  her  father's  library  when  her  father  was  out 
on  the  farm.  She  went  through  not  only  books, 
but  manuscripts,  diaries,  account  books,  files  and 
files  of  Virginia  Gazettes.  Randolph  Turberville 
certainly  had  pride  of  birth.  The  voice  of  his 
people  thundered  in  colonial  council,  revolutionary 


A  MAN'S  REACH  115 

recklessness,  in  the  pulpit,  in  the  press,  through 
the  poetry  of  plantation  life. 

Beneath  the  fanfare  was  every  bit  clean?  Of 
course  not,  it  never  is.  These  old  planters  drank 
a  lot  of  alcoholic  beverages,  witness  the  advertise- 
ments of  their  importations  in  the  Virginia 
Gazettes!  See  how  their  vessels  skim  seaward  and 
bring  back  rum  and  Madeira,  butts  and  butts  of 
it !  And  there  their  portraits  hung  at  Laneville — 
these  lavish  importers. 

Holding  her  conclusions  jealously,  Lettice  fresh 
from  the  page  would  walk  around  and  study  the 
faces  of  the  common  ancestors  of  Randolph  and 
herself. 

King  Carter!  Did  he  like  Madeira?  His  full 
lips  might  still  be  smacking  from  his  last  glass. 
John  Robinson — a  trifle  bibulous?  Very,  very 
grand  in  scarlet  velvet  and  powder !  Lettice  could 
almost  hear  his  grandiloquent  words,  that  memo- 
rable day  when  George  Washington  had  just 
stumbled  through  a  report  in  the  House  of  Bur- 
gesses :  "  Sit  down,  Mr.  Washington,  your  mod- 
esty is  only  equalled  by  your  valor !  "  Fine  gen- 
tleman was  Mr.  Speaker — but  did  he  not  love 
wine  ?  Looks  so. 

How  about  John  Chiswell  with  his  clear-cut, 
patrician  face  ?  Lettice  had  the  dots  on  him,  just 
found  them  in  the  Virginia  Gazette.  In  a  fit  of 
intoxication,  cruelly  chronicled,  Mr.  Chiswell  had 


116  A  MAN'S  REACH 

drawn  his  sword  and  pierced  Mr.  Bouthwell  in 
the  vitals ;  because  Mr.  Bouthwell,  a  common  fel- 
low, had  accosted  Mr.  Chiswell  with  familiarity. 

Yes,  the  life  that  produced  courage,  intellect, 
judgment,  would  also  produce  a  dangerous  per- 
sonal freedom.  What  did  anybody  have  to  do 
with  the  private  life  of  a  Virginia  gentleman?  If 
he  chanced  to  imbibe  more  than  was  absolutely 
expedient,  he  could  retire  to  the  discreet  attention 
of  his  loyal  body-servant:  time,  family  life,  yea, 
even  public  service,  could  easily  await  his  con- 
venience. 

So  far  as  Lettice  could  discover,  the  immediate 
ancestors  of  Randolph,  with  the  exception  of  his 
own  father,  were  punctiliously  sober.  But  hered- 
ity oozes  slowly,  and  the  characteristics,  away  be- 
hind, sometimes  catch  up  and  dominate  those 
excellent  qualities  of  the  next-of-kin. 

There  was  plenty  behind  Randolph,  Lettice  dis- 
covered, to  justify  and  account  for  a  tendency 
much  more  alarming  and  dangerous  than  such  a 
tendency  would  have  been  in  the  fresh,  free  life 
of  long  ago. 

Some  tiny  cell  in  Randolph's  remarkable  brain 
had  come  down  to  him  from  the  ages,  ready  for 
a  suggestion,  a  desire.  His  symptoms  had  been 
treated  cruelly,  unwisely. 

The  disease,  diagnosed  lightly,  had  developed 
steadily  until  the  fever  raged  and  burned.  Poor 


A  MAN'S  REACH  117 

Randolph  was  a  sick  man,  and  yet  he  was  called 
wicked,  bad,  terrible. 

Day  by  day  Lettice  heard  the  call,  saw  the  vision 
clearer  and  clearer.  The  voice  was  acutely 
distinct :  "  For  every  ill  there  is  a  cure.  Go  and 
seek,  my  child,  till  you  find  it.  Go  and  do!  Go 
and  do!" 

The  Corbins  crossed  on  the  "  Kron  Prinz 
Wilhelm  der  Grosse,"  and  while  the  older  ones 
quickly  succumbed  to  the  sickness  of  the  sea, 
Lettice  did  not  miss  a  single  meal,  but  spent  six 
days  of  absolute  self- forget  fulness  and  delirious 
enjoyment. 

Back  of  her  serious  consecration  to  a  question- 
able idea,  was  plenty  of  mischief  and  coquetry, 
and  these  alone  were  seen  by  her  new  friends 
aboard  ship.  The  lack  of  ceremony  in  ocean  eti- 
quette brought  her  quickly  in  touch  with  interest- 
ing people,  and  before  she  landed  in  the  old  world 
her  belt  was  full  of  new  scalps. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Corbin  settled  at  Carlsbad  for 
the  waters ;  and  Lettice  was  put  in  the  care  of  her 
cousin  Mary  Nicolson — wintering  in  Berlin — to 
hear  music.  At  their  hotel  was  also  a  ship  ac- 
quaintance, Charles  Harker,  who  was  pursuing 
scientific  studies — in  which  Lettice  was  deeply  in- 
terested. 

The  two  young  people  met  daily  and  discussed 


118  A  MAN'S  REACH 

the  theories  of  Suggestion,  Counter-suggestion, 
Psychotherapy — all  the  trade  winds  in  the  vast 
zone  of  Alcoholism;  while  Harker  saw  the  prac- 
tice in  the  wonderful  institutions  for  alcoholism 
in  Berlin. 

One  evening  Harker,  worn  with  the  wear  of  his 
quest,  came  to  Lettice  with  a  wonderful  glory  in 
his  eyes. 

"  This  has  been  a  strange  day,"  he  began. 
"  I've  been  in  the  brain  of  a  victim.  I've  beheld 
that  subtle  miracle,  God  and  not  God,  I've  watched 
the  alternating  activity  of  its  many  cells — the 
counter-action  of  the  psychical,  physical,  and 
spiritual  in  man — wonderful,  wonderful!  I  saw 
science  actually  cut  out  evil  with  a  knife." 

"A  knife?  How  wonderful!  Goon!"  The 
eyes  of  Lettice,  black  with  interest,  were  onyxes 
shot  with  fire. 

"  First,"  Harker  was  as  much  excited  as  she, 
"  I  saw  noble  men  overcome  by  a  restlessness,  a 
depression  that  demanded  stimulation.  I  watched 
the  victims  as  if  they  had  been  a  line  of  moving 
pictures.  Here  was  a  man  seeking  relief  by 
whiskey.  Another  in  the  wild  delirium  of  complete 
intoxication.  Another  in  the  frenzy  of  partial 
awakening.  Another  eased  by  morphia  swore 
vehemently,  '  No  more  drink  or  drug  for  me ! ' 
But  poor  creatures,  they  are  doomed  by  heredity 
or  weakness — they  are  sick.  The  alcoholic  sug- 


A  MAN'S  REACH  119 

gestion  lodges,  often,  in  a  brain  cell  awaiting  it, 
and  this  sinister  power  from  its  little  citadel  domi- 
nates and  damns  a  life — unless  it  is  extracted; 
mind  what  I  say — unless  extracted. 

"  A  dipsomaniac  cannot  be  a  moderate  drinker, 
the  desire  must  be  pulled  up  by  the  roots.  I  have 
seen  this  done  to-day.  I  have  seen  mind  dominate 
mind,  I  have  seen  righteousness  cower  evil.  I 
have  watched  the  God-in-man  pluck  the  vile  sug- 
gestion from  its  fostering  cell,  and  fill  that  cell 
with  a  divine  activity.  Miss  Corbin,  mental  medi- 
cine can  relieve  the  acute  form  of  dipsomania, 
destroy  the  pitiless  dominion  of  abnormal  thirst, 
build  up  new  desires,  and  by  enforcement  and  re- 
inforcement of  the  curative  idea,  make  the  victim 
whole.  Personal  will  is  the  only  ultimate  salva- 
tion, the  only  antagonistic  principle;  but  the  will 
must  be  put  in  splints,  as  it  were,  before  it  can 
walk  alone. 

"  Of  course,  if  there's  no  will,"  Harker  shrug- 
ged his  shoulders ;  "  but  Miss  Corbin,  some  wills 
are  only  sprained,  our  mind-splints  will  fix  them, 
won't  they?" 

"  Can't  I  see  it,  too — mind  casting  the  evil  spirit 
from  a  brother-mind  ?  How  can  I  operate  unless 
I  am  taught  how  ?  Take  me  to  them,  that  I  may 
learn,  too !  Let  me  see  the  '  God-in-one  '  touching 
the  '  God-in-another  '  and  making  light !  " 

"  You  shall." 


120  A  MAN'S  REACH 

"  Tomorrow  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to-morrow,  at  twelve  o'clock." 

It  was  strange  that  the  daughter  of  Henry 
Corbin,  of  Laneville,  in  Virginia,  should  be  trans- 
fixed over  mental  experiments  at  an  institution 
for  the  cure  of  alcoholism  in  the  city  of  Berlin : 
but  there  she  was  intent,  disengaged  from  all  the 
world,  while  Cousin  Mary  Nicolson  thought  she 
was  hearing  music.  Indeed,  she  was  hearing  heav- 
enly music,  and  the  stern  German  savants  forgot 
the  clinic  for  the  sight  of  a  rapt,  exquisite  per- 
sonality. 

Lettice  was  called  coquettish,  care- free;  a  Vir- 
ginia red-bird  darting  through  the  copse  of  Ger- 
man seriousness.  But  this  was  the  deep  of  the 
girl's  soul:  it  was  only  the  foam,  the  fine  spray 
of  her  spirit  that  broke  upon  the  spray  of  other 
spirits  and  melted  into  jest  and  laughter.  Her 
genius  was  to  do — and  mostly  for  others  than 
herself.  The  world  sees  the  sparks  from  the 
furnace-fires  of  the  soul ;  but  no  stranger  can  tell 
the  names  of  those  who  sit  and  speak  around  the 
soul's  cloistered  hearthstone. 

Lettice  saw  and  believed.  Christ  called  his  dis- 
ciples and  gave  them  power  to  cure  all  manner  of 
disease.  Would  he  not  give  her,  one  of  the  many 
millions  who  were  striving  to  follow  Him,  a  tiny 
bit  of  His  mysterious  medicine?  If  she  had  any 
curative  quality  in  her  being,  she  was  going  to 


A  MAN'S  REACH  121 

expend  every  particle  of  it  upon  Randolph  Turber- 
ville.  How  or  where  she  did  not  yet  know :  but 
time,  place  and  efficiency  would,  she  verily  be- 
lieved, appear  in  due  time. 

The  great  explorer,  Determination,  lighted  by 
the  torch  of  God,  could  hew  its  triumphant  way 
through  jungles  of  despair.  She  pinned  her  faith 
to  the  swaying  standard  of  mental  healing.  She 
might  not  succeed  in  her  trial  test,  but  at  least 
she  was  going  to  arrest  Randolph's  interest  some 
day  by  a  daring  experiment.  What  glory,  what 
delight  to  behold  him  that  was  dead  risen  again. 

She,  moreover,  believed  that  she  and  Randolph 
were  made  for  each  other — and  blighted,  sick,  was 
he  any  less  her  own?  Must  she  cast  him  away 
because  he  was  sick?  But  how  was  she  ever  to 
get  to  him  to  test  her  experiment,  her  power? 
They  were  separated  by  a  wilderness  of  black- 
ened hopes;  by  a  stone  wall  of  self-respect  and 
pride;  by  the  stern  order  of  her  father,  who  had 
declared  the  gates  of  Laneville  forever  shut  to 
Randolph  Turberville.  How  was  she  to  get  near 
enough  to  him  for  the  supreme  test  ? 

He  was  just  as  much  her  love,  sick  unto  death 
with  sin,  as  he  was  her  love  sick  unto  death  with 
pneumonia.  In  the  latter  case  love  would  lift  the 
curtain  of  propriety  and  walk  in — why  not  now? 
This  was  life  or  death. 


122  A  MAN'S  REACH 

Often  Lettice  would  lose  heart,  hesitate,  doubt; 
but 

Doubts  are  traitors, 

And  make  us  lose  the  good  we  oft  might  win 
By  fearing  to  attempt. 

What  was  Lettice  to  do?  How  was  she  to 
begin  ?  Her  father  was  getting  well  in  an  ortho- 
dox manner.  Her  mother  had  transferred  her 
Laneville  "  Economics  "  to  Carlsbad  and  went  her 
placid  way,  while  Lettice,  the  impatient  explorer, 
was  held  by  a  frozen  sea. 

Her  release  came  suddenly.  She  and  Cousin 
Mary  Nicolson  were  with  the  elder  Corbins  at 
Carlsbad  when  the  great  doctor  pronounced  Mr. 
Corbin  practically  well,  but  instead  of  sending 
him  home  to  Virginia,  he  advised  a  change  from 
daily  guardianship  and  a  return  for  further  treat- 
ment in  three  months,  when  he  hoped  to  find  his 
patient  well  enough  to  be  finally  discharged. 

Of  course  Mr.  Corbin  rebelled.  His  interests 
were  suffering  in  his  absence  from  home:  what 
would  become  of  Mrs.  Corbin's  gardens  or  the 
whole  plantation  with  them  so  long  away?  His 
son  Henry  was  off  in  a  South  American  mine; 
James  Parke  was  off  at  Madison,  Wisconsin, 
studying  agriculture  in  order  to  apply  the  latest 
discoveries  to  the  Laneville  estate:  he  must  not 
be  interrupted.  What  was  to  be  done?  If  there 


A  MAN'S  REACH  123 

were  only  some  one  he  could  trust  to  see  about  his 
plantation. 

"  Here  am  I,  papa."  The  pulses  of  Lettice 
tingled  with  hope.  Suppose  he  should  let  her  go ! 
Suppose  she  could  have  Laneville  for  any  experi- 
ment she  might  choose  to  undertake — 'Laneville 
with  everybody  far  away — delicious !  "  I'm  a 
pretty  good  boss,  you  know,  papa,  and  the  way  I 
would  prod  Mr.  Hudgens  and  the  negroes  would 
be  a  caution.  If  you  would  only  let  me  go,  papa, 
I'd  never  take  my  eye  off  anything;  and  I  should 
be  so  pleased  to  help  you.  Please,  dear  papa,  let 
me  go !  I  am  quite  old  enough  to  assume  responsi- 
bility." 

"  Do  you  propose  to  go  alone?  "  Mr.  Corbin 
asked  with  dignity. 

"  Wouldn't  Cousin  Mary  Nicolson  go  with 
me?" 

"  I  never  thought  of  that."  Mr.  Corbin  showed 
signs  of  yielding.  "  I  really  think  there  are  some 
things  you  might  do  for  me,  and  with  Mary — 
Mary  is  so  safe ;  and  I  think  Mary  wouldn't  mind 
going  to  Laneville  for  a  financial  rest.  I'll  think 
over  it,  Lettice,  and  have  a  talk  with  your  mother." 

Heaven  only  knows  how  it  came  about,  but  be- 
fore Lettice  could  catch  her  breath,  her  parents 
were  off  to  England  to  visit  the  head  of  the  family 
at  "  Hall-End  "  in  the  county  of  Warwick,  and 


124  A  MAN'S  REACH 

she  and  Cousin  Mary  Nicolson  were  racing  across 
seas  to  Laneville  in  Virginia. 

At  last  the  ocean  was  behind  and  the  travellers 
were  steaming  along  on  the  Pennsylvania  Rail- 
road. Lettice,  rather  listless,  watched  the  giant 
signs  on  the  New  Jersey  and  Delaware  plains : 
a  cow,  milked  by  a  woman  in  blue,  cried  "  Jones's 
Malted  Milk  " ;  a  big  bull  announced  "  Guernsey's 
Tobacco  " ;  and  a  huge,  dustless  screen  repelled  a 
large  black  fly.  Oh,  the  monotony  of  it  all! 
Lettice  must  have  a  paper,  something  to  divert  her. 
A  newsboy  came  along  with  a  pile  of  the  great 
dailies,  and  she  bought  a  Washington  Times. 

Nothing  of  vital  interest  until  she  turned  the 
page,  then  she  read  under  the  head  of  "  Deaths  in 
Virginia  " — "  Randolph  Turberville  in  Boling- 
broke,  March  the  first." 

Not  another  word.    To-day  is  March  the  second. 


X 

THE  old  world  and  the  new  world  each  had  a 
hand  to  an  ear — listening,  listening:  there  were 
queer  whisperings  in  the  air — spirit  was  curing 
spirit — evil  spirit  was  fleeing  before  the  voice  of 
God.  Go  and  do !  Go  and  do !  Seek  a  cure,  no 
matter  what  the  ailment! 

Lettice  was  listening,  hearing,  and  away  off  in 
Germany  she  had  been  able  to  think  of  Randolph 
with  a  clarity  of  purpose.  Randolph  in  Virginia 
was  thinking  of  Lettice,  too ;  but  his  thoughts  were 
befogged,  blurred,  inarticulate. 

The  condition  of  the  elder  Randolph  Turberville 
had  remained  so  long  about  the  same  that  neither 
his  wife  nor  his  son  felt  any  unusual  uneasiness. 
He  was  bloodless,  bald,  emaciated,  irritable:  but 
no  more  so  than  usual.  Poor  Ran,  he  was  the 
memorial  warning,  the  most  convincing  of  all 
temperance  lectures,  eternally  rejected  and  abso- 
lutely unheeded. 

One  day  young  Randolph,  suffering  with  a  terri- 
ble headache  after  several  nights  from  home,  went 
to  his  mother's  room  to  ease  himself  on  her  big, 
soft  sofa.  His  headache  was  quickly  frightened 
away  by  a  ghastly  spectacle.  His  father,  fallen 
from  a  chair,  lay  crumpled  on  the  floor — white, 

125 


126  A  MAN'S  REACH 

drawn,  still.  He  had  reached  the  limit  of  his 
resistance:  every  drop  of  blood  had  raced  from 
his  poor,  will-less  brain ;  he  never  spoke  or  breathed 
again. 

The  useless  existence  of  Randolph  Turberville 
was  forgotten  in  that  sublime  pity  that  made  the 
whole  of  Bolingbroke  his  kin.  The  city  streamed 
to  the  door  of  the  little  gray  house  in  tearful 
sympathy,  and  the  rooms  could  hardly  hold  the 
flowers  that  Bolingbroke  and  all  Virginia  sent. 

Of  course,  Ran  was  buried  from  the  Holy  Com- 
forter: a  Randolph  Turberville  had  bought  the 
first  pew  in  the  church,  and  Turbervilles  had  occu- 
pied it  ever  since.  Everybody  was  at  Ran's 
funeral:  the  judiciary,  lawyers,  doctors,  the 
governor — a  Turberville  was  dead. 

The  short  time  necessary  for  the  reading  of  the 
service  for  the  burial  of  the  dead  was  eternity  for 
Randolph,  the  son.  Beyond  the  riot  of  splendid 
blossoms,  the  solemn  words,  the  moan  of  the 
organ,  he  saw  a  pinched  body  and  heard :  "  Too 
late!  Too  late!" 

Every  familiar  object  in  the  beautiful  church 
enlarged  itself.  He  could  hear  his  own  baby  foot- 
steps,, his  big-boy  footsteps,  slow  footsteps  follow- 
ing a  flower-decked  coffin.  The  window  color  was 
articulate  sound;  peals  of  exhortation,  reproach, 
despair  darted  through  the  red  robe  of  the  priest 
in  the  chancel  window ;  and  fiery  daggers  mingled 


A  MAN'S  REACH  127 

with  the  soft  eloquence  of  the  wonderful  reredos 
— Leonardo's  Last  Supper.  Every  blossom  in  the 
wreaths,  crosses,  broken  lyres,  sheaves,  spoke  with 
tongues  of  flame— "Why?  Why?  Why?  Why? 
Too  late  ?  Eternally  too  late  ?  " 

Turbervilles,  clean  and  unclean !  How  far  self- 
responsible  ?  How  far  pre-doomed,  predestinated  ? 
Had  infringement  of  the  Mosaic  law,  though  by 
but  a  tiny  jot  or  tittle,  done  it?  Could  his  father 
have  been  cured?  This  awful  moment,  Randolph 
could  hear  his  mother  distinctly  pleading  with  him 
to  try  to  save  his  father :  but  he  had  scorned  even 
to  try— "OGod!" 

Were  he  and  his  father  victims  of  first-hand 
transgressors?  Instead  of  writhing,  tormented, 
receiving  stripe  for  stripe,  might  not  the  weary 
soul  just  fled  from  a  pinched,  scarred  body,  find 
mercy  in  the  Father-arms?  Suddenly  he  was  in 
the  city  of  Jerusalem  on  the  left  hand  of  the  Mas- 
ter, who  turned  to  him  and  said :  "  Sick,  and  in 
prison,  and  ye  visited  me  not."  "  Inasmuch  as 
ye  did  it  not  to  one  of  the  least  of  these — ye  did 
it  not  to  me."  Randolph,  himself,  also  seemed  to 
slip  away  into  everlasting  punishment  from  which 
he  was  lifted  by  the  organ's  peal. 

The  music  vibrated  with  a  tender  resonance: 
the  brave  mourner  beside  Randolph  had  chosen 
hymns  that  might  have  been  sung  at  the  funeral 
of  a  saint—"  Paradise,"  "  Just  as  I  Am,"  "  The 


128  A  MAN'S  REACH 

Strife  is  O'er,  the  Victory  Won  " — immemorial 
comforters !  The  hymns  mingled  mystically  with 
the  rich  tints  of  the  window  on  the  right  of  the 
chancel  placed  in  memory  of  Randolph's  grand- 
father, who  had  been  a  vestryman  for  forty-eight 
years.  The  glory  of  this  window  and  the  leaping 
voices  dazzled  the  young  man :  for  a  moment  he 
was  uplifted  beyond  flesh  and  sense.  Our  Saviour, 
in  the  window,  lovingly  touched  the  fair  head  of 
a  child ;  and  to  Randolph  the  Christ  and  the  child 
sang  with  the  choir — "Alleluia!  Alleluia!! 
Alleluia ! ! !  "  For  a  moment  despair  turned  to 
triumph — "  Christ !  Christ !  Salvation !  Rescue ! 
Health !  "  But  only  for  a  moment.  His  mother's 
grasp  reminded  him  that  the  service  was  over,  and 
in  terrible  reality  he  walked  with  her  out  of  the 
church. 

Lettice  and  Cousin  Mary  Nicolson  reached 
Bolingbroke  in  time  for  the  funeral  to  which, 
however,  Cousin  Mary  refused  to  go.  Her  con- 
demnation of  human  irregularity,  not  her  own, 
extended  away  and  beyond  the  grave;  and  she 
did  not  intend  even  to  appear  unmindful  of  the 
dereliction  of  anybody,  living  or  dead. 

Chattie's  Son-Boy,  her  big  bright  Galahad,  as 
Lettice  loved  to  call  Randolph  to  herself,  was  a  dis- 
mal caricature  of  the  sunshine  boy  who  caught  the 
heart  of  Lettice  from  the  top  of  a  step-ladder.  With 
his  overcoat  collar  turned  up  to  his  ears,  he  was 


A  MAN'S  REACH  120 

cruelly  envisioned  on  the  cold,  raw  day.  His  head 
was  bare,  and  his  mop  of  bright  hair  was  lifeless, 
too  long,  and  straighter  than  Lettice  thought  it 
could  ever  grow.  His  face  was  puffed,  red  and 
yellow-mottled ;  and  his  forehead  was  full  of  lines. 
Lettice  was  transfixed  with  pity  and  wholly  un- 
conscious of  the  tender  solicitude  of  her  gaze. 
"  Oh,  Randolph,  soiled  and  broken,  I've  come  to 
save  you.  Don't  you  feel  me  near?  " 

He  raised  his  eyes  and  Lettice  caught  their  pain, 
weariness  and  despair. 

Randolph  was,  indeed,  startled  by  the  vision  of 
Lettice  Corbin:  he  thought  she  was  still  in  Ger- 
many. Instead  of  furs,  she  wore  a  long  surtout 
which  took  all  the  color  from  her  face  and  made 
of  her  bright  hair  discord  and  mockery.  Her  lids, 
quickly  lowered,  gave  to  her  face  a  crypt-like  cold- 
ness; but  crystal  teardrops,  struggling  through 
her  long  lashes,  offered  a  holy,  pitying  sympathy. 

"  Send  her  to  me,  O  Christ ;  send  her  to  me ! " 
Poor  Randolph  prayed  as  the  clods  of  earth  fell 
heavily  on  his  father's  coffin. 

From  the  grave  Lettice  hurried  to  Cousin  Mary 
Nicolson  who  awaited  her  at  the  Southern 
Station. 

Randolph  expected  Lettice  all  the  evening :  she 
always  appeared  at  supreme  moments,  and  how 
could  she  have  the  heart  to  fail  him  now  ?  When 
she  did  not  come,  he  was  naturally  crushed  with  a 

9 


130  A  MAN'S  REACH 

bitter  conclusion :  "  Lattice  Corbin  is  done  with 
me,  and  she  is  right." 

His  depression,  when  he  and  his  mother  had 
parted  for  the  night,  was  terrible.  How  could  he 
stand  it  ?  He  felt  himself  a  frailer  bark  than  ever, 
blown  by  the  whipping  blast  of  destiny.  He  was 
nothing  but  an  agonizing  "  sting  "  forever  to  hurt 
his  mother  and  any  other  pitying  one  who  might 
regard  him.  He  could  not  stand  it. 

The  implacable-suggestion-satisfied  could  not 
ease  him  to-night;  momentarily  it  had  lost  its 
seduction ;  the  higher  emotions,  quickened  by  the 
events  of  the  last  few  days,  feebly  attacked  the 
bestial  proclivities.  He  was  coerced  by  the  mem- 
ory of  a  wordless  vision  across  an  open  grave. 
"  Oh,  God,  I  must  see  her  once  more !  "  he  cried 
in  despair. 

The  pall  of  death  and  finality,  the  realization  of 
the  fortitude  of  the  magnificent  mourner  in  the 
next  room,  the  knowledge  that  he  had  flung  aside 
the  wealth  of  life  like  a  filthy  rag — maddened 
Randolph  Turberville.  He  was  going  to  end  it 
all  this  very  moment. 

He  got  up  from  his  chair  and  started  to  his 
wardrobe — the  end  was  there.  He  paused  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor :  "  He  that  was  dead  is  risen 
again!"  Dead?  Risen  again?  Can  anything 
dead  rise  again?  A  tiny  shaft  of  hideous  scorn 


A  MAN'S  BEACH  181 

pierced  his  grief-marked  face.  "  Dead?  Risen 
again?  No!  No!" 

Randolph,  now  at  the  wardrobe,  opened  its 
door.  Four  bottles  stood  on  the  middle  shelf. 
One  bottle  was  labelled  "  Old  Scotch " ;  one, 
"  Mountain  Rye  " ;  one,  "  Bumbgardner  " ;  and 
the  other,  a  white  bottle  containing  a  white  fluid, 
was  marked  "  Poison."  A  young  doctor  friend 
had  left  the  white  bottle  there  months  ago,  had 
forgotten  it;  a  happy  circumstance  to  Randolph 
now. 

Randolph  gazed  pitiably  at  the  four  bottles. 
jWhich?  Which?  Should  he  empty  the  Old 
Scotch  with  a  dozen  gulps  and  forget  for  a  few 
hours?  Or  should  he  pour  the  white  fluid  upon 
his  handkerchief  and  sleep?  Sleep  forever? 

"  He  that  was  dead  is  risen  again." 

"  Rise  again  ?    He  that  is  dead  ?  " 

"  I  have  forfeited  my  place  in  this  world,  shall 
I  try  my  luck  in  another?  " 

"  He  that  was  dead,  is  risen  again." 

Randolph  pulled  his  handkerchief  from  his 
pocket  and  took  the  white  bottle  from  the  middle 
shelf  of  his  wardrobe. 

"  He  that  is  dead  shall  rise  again?  "  Prepos- 
terous! Which — which — oblivion  or  ignomin- 
ious resistance? 

Which?    Which  shall  it  be? 


PART  II 
XI 

THE  Laneville  carriage  met  Lettice  and  Cousin 
Mary  at  Lester  Manor.  The  new  century  was  ten 
years  old,  but  Laneville  still  rolled  over  the  level 
roads  of  Middlesex  in  a  cumbersome,  family  car- 
riage. With  Billy  Dixon,  the  late  driver,  departed 
the  high  boot  and  the  folding  steps,  but  the  car- 
riage still  remained  to  crunch  the  soft  sand  of  the 
quiet  roads. 

There  were  piles  of  purple  clouds  in  the  evening 
sky,  and  where  they  parted  a  silver  Venus  flashed. 
In  the  open  was  occasionally  the  twinkle  of  home- 
lights  and  in  the  forest  the  chirp  of  wild  things. 
Cousin  Mary's  thin  questions  broke  against  the 
rhythm  of  the  horses'  feet;  and  the  answers  of 
Lettice  were  like  little  bridges  hanging  lightly 
above  the  ravines  where  her  thoughts  hid.  She 
was  scarcely  hearing,  scarcely  feeling;  she  was 
composing  a  letter.  Once  before  she  had  written 
a  letter;  and  this  letter,  burning  her  thoughts  to- 
night, was  pendent  to  it.  One  undid ;  this  would 
do. 

At  last  a  halt,  and  a  merry  "  How  d'ye,  Miss 
Lettice ! " — from  the  little  black  gate-opener, 

132 


A  MAN'S  REACH  133 

meant  home.  She  was  reaching  the  climax,  she 
was  coming  nearer — nearer. 

"  How  far  from  the  house  now  ? "  Cousin 
Mary's  voice  was  thinner. 

"  More'n  a  mile,"  Uncle  Alec,  the  driver,  an- 
swered. "  You  is  done  fergit,  ain't  yer,  Miss 
Ma'y?" 

Around  they  passed,  under  the  arching  cedars, 
in  trustful  security,  in  spite  of  the  darkness ;  then 
through  the  arch  of  box,  and  at  last  to  the  Lane- 
ville  lawn.  The  great  trees  flung  their  bare 
branches  to  the  sky  in  hallelujahs  for  her  home- 
coming. The  dogs  curved  their  spotted  bodies 
and  frisked  and  barked.  From  the  windows 
gleams  of  light  greeted  Lettice  and  Cousin  Mary; 
and  the  negroes,  collected  in  the  front  porch, 
chirped  like  a  flock  of  blackbirds. 

The  house  was  set  as  for  a  great  company,  and 
they  had  waffles  and  oysters  for  supper. 

"  Aren't  negroes  the  best  creatures  in  the 
world  ?  "  Lettice  asked  Cousin  Mary  as  they 
walked  down  the  wide  fire-lit  hall. 

"  I  think  they  are  trials  and  pests,"  she  an- 
swered. "  Lettice,  dear,  this  hall  is  cold." 

"  Trials  and  pests  ?  Look,  Cousin  Mary ! — fires 
everywhere,  lights,  order,  supper,  smiles!  What 
more?" 

"  How  d'ye  do ! "  Lettice  cried,  waving  her 


134  A  MAN'S  REACH 

hands  to  the  portraits  on  the  walls.  "  Glad  to 
have  me  back  ?  " 

Cousin  Mary  Nicolson  miraculously  praised  the 
coffee,  and  yielded  to  the  influence  of  waffles  and 
oysters.  She  actually  looked  serene  and  drowsy  as 
she  and  Lettice  drew  close  to  the  library  fire. 

The  spirits  of  Lettice  shot  skyward.  Serious- 
ness and  precocity  retreated  before  the  impulsive 
gladness  of  youth  and  health.  There  seemed  no 
hopeless  condition  in  the  universe.  The  delicious 
amplitude  and  beauty  of  her  home  overpowered 
her,  flung  out  a  challenge  to  the  world.  All  in- 
spiration was  here.  She  had  but  to  gather  it  and 
go  forward.  Laneville  did  not  bind — it  encour- 
aged. It  cried  to  her  to-night,  "  We  did  our  best 
in  our  day  and  generation,  but  our  best  is  not  your 
best.  You  have  our  lives  to  build  upon,  but  your 
life  shoots  away  and  beyond  into  God's  mysteries." 

She  could  not  contain  herself.  In  her  sur- 
charged being  circulated  pools  of  clearest  hope 
and  intention.  She  seized  Cousin  Mary  by  her 
slim  waist,  pulled  her  from  her  chair,  and  twirled 
her  into  the  immense  hall.  Her  forefathers  had 
given  her  space  in  which  to  think  and  be  glad; 
she  must  dance  out  her  satisfaction. 

"Aren't  you  happy,  glad,  too?"  she  sang. 
"  Glad — glad — glad?  Sing,  Cousin  Mary,  sing!  " 

She  rushed  her  unwilling  cousin  into  a  frantic, 


A  MAN'S  REACH  135 

unwilling  two-step;  singing  at  the  top  of  her  voice 
(to  the  tune  of  "  Sally  in  the  Garden  ")— 

Cousin  Mary  Nicolson,  Nicolson,  Nicolson; 

Cousin  Mary  Nicolson,  Nicolson — Nick! 
I'm  so  happy,  happy,  happy — 

I'm  so  happy-e-e-e,  Cousin  Mary  Nick! 

Almost  breathless,  she  deposited  "  Cousin 
Mary  "  into  the  softest  chair  in  the  large  drawing- 
room.  Logs  were  burning,  blazes  were  dancing 
in  brass  and  crystal,  and  Lettice  tucked  her  vibrat- 
ing self  in  the  corner  of  the  red  velvet  sofa  and 
caught  her  breath.  Then  turning  to  Cousin  Mary 
Nicolson,  she  asked  naively:  "Isn't  Laneville 
nice?" 

Upstairs  in  her  own  dear  room,  with  its  clam- 
bering roses  and  fluttering  humming  birds,  she 
crouched  for  an  hour  or  more  by  the  fire ;  then  she 
went  to  her  desk  and  wrote  the  letter. 

If  she  were  opening  a  gate  that  her  father  had 
shut,  Heaven,  she  believed,  would  give  her  absolu- 
tion. How  could  she  neglect  so  great  an  oppor- 
tunity, even  for  a  father's  command? 

Here  was  the  "  Great-God-in-her  "  clamoring 
for  expression :  to  whom  must  she  listen — to  her 
God,  to  personal  inspiration;  or  to  her  father  to 
whom  God  seemed  to  speak  in  a  monotonous 
undertone  ? 

She  earnestly  believed  that  the  evil  she  was 
doing  was  only  a  mote  to  the  tremendous  good 


136  A  MAN'S  REACH 

which  would  be  accomplished  by  the  "  test "  she 
hoped  to  make  within  the  sacred  quiet  of  her 
father's  home. 

A  remark  she  had  made  to  Charlotte  Turberville 
long  ago  recurred  to  her  in  the  pretty  seclusion 
of  her  own  room  at  Laneville:  "  Laneville  was 
made  for  me,  not  me  for  Laneville." 

What  greater  privilege  would  the  departed  mis- 
tresses and  masters  of  Laneville  wish  for  their 
wonderful  home  than  the  glory  of  trying  to  raise 
him  that  was  dead ?  "I  was  sick  and  ye  visited 
me."  "  I  was  sick  and  ye  permitted  me  to  visit 
you."  All  the  same,  the  very,  very  same. 

Yes,  Lettice  was  sure  she  was  right,  and  she 
was  ready  to  face  the  consequence  of  her  wild 
experiment.  She  was  going  to  try  to  lay  hold 
of  Randolph  Turberville,  and  bring  him  to  his 
senses :  if  she  failed  she  would  have  done  her  best, 
as  she  saw  it:  if  she  succeeded — oh,  Glory!  Oh, 
God! 

Lettice  knew  she  was  right,  and  she  left  the 
fire  to  write  the  letter. 

MY  DEAR  MRS.  TURBERVILLE: 

You  and  Randolph  have  been  most  tenderly  in  my  mind 
ever  since  last  Tuesday,  when  I  had  a  glimpse  of  you 
at  Holly-wood.  I  wish  I  could  write  all  I  feel ;  but  I  can't. 
I  can  only  say  I  am  so  very,  very  sorry  for  Randolph  and 
you. 

I  am  writing  especially  to  tell  you  this,  but  also  to  ask 
of  you  and  Randolph  a  great  favor.  Papa  and  mamma  are 


A  MAN'S  REACH  137 

still  abroad,  and  will  be  for  three  months  longer,  and 
Cousin  Mary  Nicolson  and  I  are  alone  at  Laneville  until 
they  return. 

The  place  will  be  enchanting  soon,  and  I  believe  would 
help  you  and  Randolph  to  forget.  Already  the  jonquils 
and  snow-drops  are  everywhere,  and  the  lawn  as  green  as 
an  emerald.  Can't  you  and  Randolph  come  at  once  and 
stay  as  long  as  you  choose?  You  will  be  no  trouble  to 
me  whatever,  there  are  too  many  servants  and  too  much 
of  everything  for  Cousin  Mary  and  me. 

Please  come,  dear  Mrs.  Turberville.  I  believe  Laneville 
will  do  you  both  a  lot  of  good ;  and  I'll  promise  you  to  do 
my  level  best  to  cheer  you  after  you  come.  If  you  don't 
come  I  shall  think  that  neither  you  nor  Randolph  care  for 
me  any  more. 

Any  day  or  hour  will  suit  me — just  drop  me  a  line  that 
Uncle  Alec  and  the  carriage  may  meet  you. 
Most  affectionately  yours, 

LETTICE  CORBIN. 

LANEVILLE,  March  the  tenth. 

A  "  life-letter  "  comes  slow.  The  morning 
asks,  "  Will  it  come  to-day?  "  The  night  answers, 
"  Maybe  to-morrow." 

The  "  rural  deliverer  "  stopped  at  the  Laneville 
gate  any  time  between  two  and  four  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,  according  to  the  inclination  of  the 
black  horse  that  conveyed  him:  neither  by  lash 
or  oath  did  he  express  any  impatience  at  the  de- 
liberate indolence  of  his  stubborn  beast.  He  lived 
to  chew  tobacco  and  this  he  could  do  as  well  behind 
a  slow  horse  as  a  fast  one.  His  attitude  to  his 
occupation  was  resentful,  he  pulled  papers  and 


188  A  MAN'S  REACH 

letters  from  his  leathern  bag  as  if  they  were 
vicious,  and  stuffed  them  into  the  mail-box  as  if 
they  were  vanquished  enemies.  No  reassuring 
smile  for  better  things  to-morrow  ever  lit  the 
rugged  face  when  an  expected  letter  did  not  come : 
indeed,  he  considered  letters  rather  foolish  and 
superfluous  and  had  remarked  to  his  fellow-car- 
riers at  the  post-office — "  Pity  some  folks  got 
nothin'  to  do  but  watch  for  the  mail,  'specially 
Miss  Lettice  Corbin." 

Lettice  was  trying  to  forget  the  letter,  and  to 
lose  herself  in  plantation  interests.  Immediately 
after  an  early  breakfast,  to  which  Cousin  Mary 
Nicolson  never  came,  she,  on  Kitty  Fisher — her 
bay  mare — would  flash  over  the  fragrant  brown 
of  new-plowed  fields,  over  green  pastures  dotted 
with  mothering  sheep,  over  pine-tagged  road  to 
gather  the  last  words  of  other  industries;  she  was 
earnestly  holding  the  pulse  of  the  plantation,  and 
trying  to  diagnose  wisely  the  various  agricultural 
symptoms;  while  an  acute,  irresistible  unrest 
pricked  her  energy  like  a  relentless  thorn. 

About  two  o'clock  she  on  Kitty  Fisher  daily 
awaited  the  "  rural  deliverer  "  at  the  outer  gate. 
Every  day  he  was  a  little  later  than  he  was  the 
day  before.  Kitty  did  not  care,  she  liked  to  munch 
the  new  grass  around  the  post  that  held  the  letter- 
box. Lettice  tried  not  to  care,  but — mercy — the 
fate  of  the  tinkling,  laughing,  spring  world  was 


A  MAN'S  REACH  139 

in  the  keeping  of  the  deliberate,  unsympathizing 
mail  man. 

Why  did  not  the  letter  come?  "  Even  if  Ran- 
dolph refused  to  consider  my  overtures,  why  did 
his  mother's  courtesy  fail  her  at  such  a  time? 
I  try  not  to  care,  but  I  do,  I  do;  so  very,  very 
much,"  was  the  girl's  heart-cry. 

Two  weeks  passed,  and  the  spring  world  was 
sulky.  The  sky  was  gray,  the  green  things  be- 
draggled, and  the  hopes  of  Lettice  were  crumpled 
and  dreary,  too. 

But,  at  last,  there  came  a  day  when  Lettice  and 
Kitty  Fisher  did  not  have  to  wait  for  the  man  who 
fetched  the  Laneville  mail ;  for  strange  to  say,  he 
had  come,  stuffed  the  mail  in  the  box  and  gone 
before  they  rode  up.  Lettice  resented  the  appetite 
of  Kitty  Fisher  which  induced  her  to  greedily  nip 
the  young  grass  before  they  reached  the  box,  by 
giving  her  a  sharp  lash  on  her  silken  rump  accom- 
panied with  a  stern,  "Get  up,  Kitty!"  When 
the  mare  had  unwillingly  moved  up,  the  girl  leant 
over  eagerly  and  pulled  out  first  a  batch  of  papers 
for  Cousin  Mary,  a  letter  from  her  mother  for 
herself,  finally  a  black-bordered  envelope  bearing 
her  name  in  characteristic  elegance — this  she 
opened  first,  quickly  devouring  its  contents.  They 
pleased  her,  made  her  let  herself  go,  and  she  waved 
the  letter  in  the  wet  air,  and  cried,  "  Hurrah, 
Hurrah !  " 


140  A  MAN'S  REACH 

The  little  black  gate-opener,  safe  in  her  house, 
started  again  to  open  the  gate,  but  Lettice  waved 
her  back ;  she  was  going  to  save  everybody  to-day 
— for  Randolph  was  coming. 

Once  more  she  stopped  Kitty  Fisher's  feast,  and 
to  her  insistent  "  S-s-s-s-s-s "  the  little  mare 
flashed  through  the  gate,  down  the  long  lane  to 
the  house.  The  girl's  quickened  pulses  found  ex- 
pression in  the  horse's  rapid  footsteps,  for  a  "  dead 
paper  mute  and  white  "  seemed  "  alive  and  quiver- 
ing against  her  tremulous  hands." 

Mary  Nicolson  was  in  the  library  deep  in  the 
mysteries  of  a  pale  pink  shawl,  when  Lettice 
burst  in  with :  "  We  are  going  to  have  company, 
Cousin  Mary." 

"  Who?  "  asked  Cousin  Mary,  with  interest. 

"  Mrs.  Turberville  and  Randolph." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  that  disrepu- 
table fellow?" 

Lettice,  very  grave  by  the  fire,  was  reading  the 
letter  again  to  herself : 

DEAR  LETTICE: 

I  have  not  written  before  because  I  could  not  get  Ran- 
dolph to  make  up  his  mind.  He  has  had  quite  a  spell 
and  is  still  miserable;  but  he  is  deeply  touched  by  your 
invitation,  and  has  consented  to  accept  it.  We  will  be  at 
Lester  Manor  on  the  Monday  afternoon  train. 
Thank  you,  so  much,  dear  Lettice. 

Affectionately  your  friend, 

CHARLOTTE  TURBERVILLE. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  141 

Then  Lettice  regarded  her  cousin  intently  for  a 
moment  before  she  asked,  "  Do  you  really  wish  to 
know,  Cousin  Mary?  I  and  Laneville  are  going 
to  cure  him." 

An  exquisite  sense  of  reconciliation,  even  for 
Mary  Nicolson,  overcame  the  earnest  girl  about 
to  enter  the  retreat  of  passionless  devotion.  There 
was  always  somebody  to  mock  and  revile  the 
explorer.  Cousin  Mary  was  conscientious,  too — 
"  Be  ye  reconciled  to  one  another." 

"  Remember,  Cousin  Mary,  how  Mrs.  Turber- 
ville  supported  her  shattered  son  the  day  of  the 
funeral — won't  you  be  glad  to  see  her  with  him  in 
this  great,  blossoming  sanctuary  ?  I  am  not  doing 
this  thing  that  you  condemn  for  caprice:  before 
heaven,  Cousin  Mary,  I  hear  the  voice  of  Christ." 

Mary  Nicolson  was  silent,  and  Lettice  began 
to  hum  a  sacred  melody;  and  presently  a  bright- 
ness broke  over  Laneville,  and  going  to  the  win- 
dow she  beheld  that  "  gracious  thing  made  up  of 
tears  and  light  which  was  an  answer  to  her  soul." 

Problems  are  worse  than  pain,  only  love  can 
find  their  answers. 


XII 

LETTICE  did  not  meet  her  guests  at  Lester- 
Manor,  but  sent  Uncle  Alec,  the  faithful  Laneville 
driver,  with  the  carriage. 

It  was  a  long,  cold  afternoon  and  the  waning 
sun  lay  upon  the  lawn  like  a  timid  intruder.  The 
shadows  of  the  magnolia  leaves  danced  wildly 
upon  the  sides  of  the  house,  and  the  trees  screamed 
in  the  clutches  of  the  March  wind. 

The  confidence  of  Lettice  had  grown  as  pale  as 
the  sun,  her  pulses  as  wild  as  the  wind.  She  ran 
upstairs  and  down  a  dozen  times  to  see  if  the 
fires  were  at  their  best,  and  gave  minute  sugges- 
tions for  the  tea-table;  demanding  Mrs.  Bell's 
crochet  mats,  Grandmother  Digges's  china,  Presi- 
dent Nelson's  urn,  and  a  bowl  of  jonquils. 

She  caught  the  dogs  and  whispered  secrets  in 
their  ears,  and  their  wagging  tails  accorded  her 
genuine  canine  sympathy.  She  implored  Miles, 
the  cook,  to  have  the  coffee  good  and  strong ;  and 
if  she  had  been  on  the  eve  of  a  court  ball  she 
could  not  have  taken  her  raiment  more  seriously ; 
when  she  appeared  in  piles  of  hair  and  purple 
chiffon,  Cousin  Mary  held  up  her  hands: 
"  Haven't  you  mistaken  the  occasion  ?  "  she  asked 
sternly. 

142 


A  MAN'S  REACH  148 

"  It  is  the  greatest  occasion  of  my  life,"  Lettice 
answered  defiantly,  as  she  went  to  the  window, 
held  her  hands  each  side  of  her  face  and  peered 
into  the  descending  darkness  for  their  coming. 

They  were  very  late.  A  dozen  times  the  wind 
was  a  carriage  rolling  up,  and  the  blessed  dogs, 
contrary  to  their  custom,  barked  a  dozen  times 
unnecessarily. 

At  last  there  was  no  mistake,  the  wheels  were 
crunching  the  gravel  and  the  horses  making  for 
the  front  door. 

For  a  second  the  courage  of  the  girl  failed,  but 
a  second  more  it  was  red-hot  again. 

"  Here  they  are,  Cousin  Mary ! "  she  said  as 
she  left  the  room.  Cousin  Mary  mumbled  some- 
thing but  Lettice  paid  no  attention;  before  the 
carriage  stopped  she  was  down  the  steps,  and  her 
own  hand  opened  the  carriage  door. 

She  expressed  her  welcome  in  a  kiss  to  Mrs. 
Turberville  and  a  firm  grasp  of  Randolph's  hand. 
Very  quickly  she  perceived  that  she  had  to  save 
the  situation — her  guests  needed  tonic.  She  had 
to  force  them  along  with  her  spirit. 

"  Cousin  Mary,"  she  called,  "  here  they  are, 
just  as  tired  as  you  were.  Come  on  and  abuse  the 
Southern  Railroad,  and  Laneville  for  being  so 
*ar." 

Her  sensations  were  similar  to  those  of  a  phy- 
sician who  has  hopefully  travelled  miles  and  miles 


144  A  MAN'S  REACH 

to  see  a  patient,  and  finds  a  dying  man.  There 
were  deep  shadows  beneath  a  pair  of  absolutely 
weary  eyes,  and  a  wretched  cynicism  upon  too- 
full  lips — strangely  removing  Randolph  from  her 
assumed  flippancies. 

As  Randolph  and  his  mother  went  up  to  their 
rooms  a  sense  of  futility  overcame  Lettice;  she 
felt  herself  a  silly  cur  barking  at  the  wheels  of 
fate's  chariot.  "  Things  are  as  things  are ;  as 
fate  has  willed,  so  shall  they  be  fulfilled."  She 
wondered  if  after  all  that  were  true. 

At  the  table  they  somewhat  recovered  them- 
selves. Cousin  Mary  Nicolson  loved  news,  and 
listened  with  interest  to  the  bits  of  urban  gossip 
that  Mrs.  Turberville  so  quietly  related. 

A  young  Bolingbroke  girl,  whom  they  all  knew, 
had  been  terribly  injured  in  an  automobile  acci- 
dent, and  Lettice  asked  if  her  leg  had  ever  been 
set,  adding  with  feeling :  "  Poor  Margaret 
Colston, — she  loved  to  dance  and  danced  so  well !  " 

"  Yes,  it  has  been  set  at  last  after  repeated  fail- 
ures, and  they  hope  it  is  going  to  knit."  Chattie's 
voice  was  sympathetic.  "  The  dear  child  has  gone 
through  everything,  but  she  may  not  be  lame  after 
all." 

"  It  is  awful  to  think  of  a  young  girl  being 
maimed  by  carelessness."  Cousin  Mary  was  fast 
losing  her  horror  of  Randolph,  and  was  enjoying 
his  mother  immensely.  "  I  should  never  forgive 


A  MAN'S  REACH  145 

a  person  for  laying  any  sort  of  spiritual  or  physi- 
cal blemish  on  my  child." 

"Well,"  Chattie's  experiences  had  filled  her 
heart  with  an  amazing  charity  unto  all  men.  "  I 
don't  think  it  was  carelessness;  I  think  it  was 
inevitable.  I  believe,  too,  that  Jerry  Donnan — 
poor  fellow,  he  was  driving  the  car  at  the  time 
of  the  accident — would  have  lost  his  mind  but 
for  Bill-Bob  Catlett  You  know  Bill-Bob  is  filling 
the  pulpit  of  the  Holy  Comforter  temporarily,  and 
there  is  a  strong  suspicion  that  he  will  be  called 
to  be  rector." 

"  Never !  That  callow  youth  ?  "  Cousin  Mary 
was  astonished. 

"  Not  such  a  callow  youth  as  you  would  imag- 
ine." Randolph  had  scarcely  opened  his  lips  be- 
fore. "  Bill-Bob  is  good  stuff ;  only  difficulty  is 
that  the  Holy  Comforter  people  are  so  set  in 
their  ways  that  he'd  never  be  able  to  carry  out 
his  ideas  even  if  he  was  called.  Bill-Bob  is  a 
crusader — a  reformer.  He  is  the  very  fellow  for 
that  church,  but  he'll  be  up  against  it  when  he 
gets  there." 

"  I've  heard,"  Charlotte,  always  temperate,  was 
speaking  again,  "  that  at  a  meeting  of  the  vestry 
for  the  purpose  of  talking  things  over  with 
Robert — Bill-Bob  seems  almost  too  familiar — he 
made  his  convictions  very  plain.  His  watchword 
is  Service,  he  is  truly  his  brother's  keeper  and  his 
10 


146  A  MAN'S  REACH 

sister's  keeper,  too.  His  mind  is  full  of  human 
betterment,  and  I  don't  know  how  far  the  Holy 
Comforter  will  sustain  him.  Our  beautiful  and 
beloved  church  has  been  the  church  of  the  Classes, 
and  Robert  thinks  every  church  should  be  the 
church  of  the  Masses.  That's  where  the  trouble 
will  come  in.  Think  of  Mrs.  Nathaniel  Norris 
having  a  pauper  in  her  pew !  " 

"  Pretty  bad,"  Randolph  spoke  again,  "  but 
didn't  you  tell  me,  mother,  that  you  heard — that 
at  the  end  of  that  very  meeting — Bill-Bob  made 
an  extempore  prayer  that  drew  tears  from  eyes 
that  never  before  had  realized  that  an  unwritten 
supplication  could  reach  the  ear  of  God?  " 
"  Yes,  I  heard  that,"  said  Mrs.  Turberville. 
"  Well,  I  am  surprised  at  nothing,"  Cousin 
Mary  lay  down  her  knife  and  fork;  "  but  I  would 
hate  to  think  of  the  Holy  Comforter  being  turned 
to  a  revival  meeting  house,  where  anybody  who 
chose  could  come  in  and  shout.  I  do  think  that 
something  exclusive  should  be  preserved." 

"  No  corners  in  religion  now,  Miss  Nicolson," 
Randolph  smiled  wearily.  "  They  tell  me  Bill- 
Bob  is  the  expression  of  the  highest  world- 
thought.  He  has  worked  wonders  among  the 
mountaineers  and  he  may  work  wonders  in  Bol- 
ingbroke.  I  don't  know,"  more  wearily. 

Randolph    had    no    appetite    for    Laneville's 


A  MAN'S  REACH  147 

boasted  food,  but  drank  quickly  three  cups  of 
creamless  coffee. 

"You  asked  us  to  make  ourselves -at  home," 
he  said  to  Lettice  with  a  trace  of  his  boyish  sweet- 
ness, "  and  I  am  accepting  your  invitation  in 
coffee." 

This  faint  glimmer  of  his  old  self  struck  the 
core  of  Lettice  Corbin's  resolutions :  "  He  should 
be  entirely  restored  to  his  frankness,  his  charm. 
It  was  all  there — every  bit  there — and  the  world 
would  see  it  when  the  debris  of  indulgence  was 
cleared  away." 

When  they  arose  from  the  table  they  walked 
around  the  hall  looking  at  the  pictures  of  the 
Corbin  race-horses.  It  was  too  cool  to  tarry  there 
long  and  the  ladies  went  into  the  drawing-room, 
while  Randolph  stayed  in  the  dining-room  to 
smoke. 

For  a  few  moments  Mrs.  Turberville  moved 
about  among  the  pictures  and  different  pretty 
things,  and  then  without  any  warning,  asked : 
"  Isn't  Son-Boy  changed,  Lettice  ?  " 

Lettice,  exhausted  by  her  efforts  at  the  table, 
which  now  seemed  palpable  and  hollow,  didn't 
have  the  strength  to  dissimulate. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  almost  in  a  whisper. 

Mrs.  Turberville  sighed,  and  turning  to  Mary 
Nicolson,  said  very  quietly :  "  You  could  hardly 
imagine  what  a  brilliant  fellow  my  son  was." 


148  A  MAN'S  REACH 

Mary  Nicolson  could  not  answer  a  word. 

Randolph  did  not  join  them,  and  at  eleven,  the 
Laneville  bed-time,  Lettice  went  to  find  him.  He 
was  still  in  the  high-back  dining-room  chair — his 
head  thrown  back,  and  his  hands  clasped  over  it. 
"  It  is  good  for  you  to  ask  me  here,  I'm  almost  in 
despair — my  nerves,  everything.  I  can't  stand  it. 
The  night  of  father's  funeral  I  couldn't  decide 
whether  it  should  be  laudanum  or  always  whiskey. 
I  chose  the  latter.  Oh,  Lettice! " 

Lettice  was  not  so  brave  as  she  had  fancied. 
She  could  not  call  up  one  light  word.  She  wanted 
to  be  kind  but  did  not  know  how  to  begin. 
"  Nerves  ?  "  she  thought.  "  He  needs  something 
stimulating." 

"  I  am  not  much  of  a  doctor,  Randolph,  I  am 
awfully  ignorant  about  such  things,  but  maybe 
you  really  need  a-a-a-tonic,"  she  said  hesitatingly, 
"  I — I  have  some  ammonia,  and  some  wine  and 
whiskey." 

"  I  have  drunk  gallons  since  my  father's  death," 
he  answered,  "  and  I  brought  some  with  me.  It 
isn't  a  nice  thing  to  do,  but  I  might  have  killed 
myself  if  I  hadn't.  I  am  a  miserable  creature — 
don't  despise  me,  Lettice !  " 

Where  were  the  words  of  consolation  and  en- 
couragement that  Lettice  Corbin  had  so  faithfully 
rehearsed?  She  could  not  think  of  a  single  one. 
Silence  enveloped  them  like  a  winding  sheet.  The 


A  MAN'S  REACH  149 

splendid  appointments  of  the  mahogany-panelled 
room  suddenly  became  icebergs,  its  generous 
dimensions  a  frozen  sea  in  the  midst  of  which 
a  man  and  woman  stood — chilled,  numb,  suffer- 
ing. The  tremendous  moment,  long  expected,  was 
dumb,  hopeless.  The  tongue  of  each  was  pinched, 
the  heart  of  each  hard.  The  girl  could  not  reach 
a  single  thought  to  relieve  the  agony  of  her  com- 
panion. 

A  door  opened  very  easily  and  Amos  stepped 
softly  in. 

"  Mose  bade-time  ?  "  he  asked  timidly,  as  he 
asked  every  night  at  this  hour. 

He  went  toward  the  hall — Randolph  and  Lettice 
following.  Lettice  called  the  other  ladies  from  the 
drawing-room,  and  they  followed  Amos  to  the 
first  landing,  where  on  a  Chippendale  table  stood 
four  squat  candlesticks.  Amos  lighted  three, 
handed  one  to  each  of  the  ladies,  and  they  passed 
on  up. 

Then  he  lighted  the  fourth  and  led  the  way  up 
the  broad  stairway :  "  I'll  show  you  yo*  room, 
Marse  Randuff,"  he  said  with  kindness. 

Amos  could  read  the  handwriting  upon  a  man's 
face,  and  he  knew  that  Randolph  Turberville 
needed  his  attention. 


XIII 

THE  next  morning  everything  was  easier  and 
conversation  much  less  strained.  After  breakfast 
Lettice  and  Randolph  went  over  the  place.  He 
showed  a  little  interest  in  the  cattle,  the  garden, 
and  especially  the  pigs. 

"  Don't  you  love  them  ?  "  Lettice  asked  as  they 
stood  by  a  pen  of  squealing  black  and  reds. 
"  Charles  Lamb  did — when  they  were  roasted." 
In  days  gone  by  Randolph,  perhaps,  would  have 
repeated  Charles  Lamb's  immortal  ideas  on  the 
roasted  ears  of  a  baby  pig — not  so  to-day;  he 
hadn't  the  energy. 

From  pigs  to  the  dairy,  to  the  garden  where 
shy  little  eyes  were  opening  from  their  winter's 
sleep,  and  finally  to  the  stables :  "  Do  you  like  to 
ride?  "  Lettice  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes !  Once  I  liked  everything,  didn't  I  ? 
That  was  the  worst  of  it." 

Very  soon  she  on  "  Kitty  Fisher  "  and  he  on 
Henry's  "  Hampton "  were  galloping  over  the 
new-plowed  fields  fragrant  with  the  breath  of 
mother  earth.  They  were  talking  to  the  hands; 
scanning  the  far  reaches  of  Mr.  Corbin's  estate; 
gaining  little  hillocks  to  get  a  view  of  the  water, 
the  oyster  boats,  the  vessels  going  so  leisurely  on 

150 


TOUR  DEEDS  ARE  A  1.1.  BEHIND 


A  MAN'S  REACH  151 

their  pretty  way ;  stepping  slowly  through  awaken- 
ing woods  and  then  out  on  the  main  road,  straight 
and  wide,  unlike  the  narrow  Biblical  path  that 
lea.ds  to  life  everlasting. 

There  they  put  their  horses  out  and  ran  without 
a  word  four  even  miles  to  old  Christ  Church. 

"Fine!"  Randolph  uttered  his  first  word  of 
enthusiasm.  "  I'd  like  to  go  and  go  and  go;  far 
and  away  into  forget  fulness,  with  all  my  deeds 
behind  me." 

Lettice  looked  at  him  steadily  and  answered, 
"  Your  deeds  are  all  behind,"  her  first  words  of 
healing !  "  Listen  to  the  voices  of  the  universe !  " 
A  pause.  "  Aren't  they  sweet?  " 

Randolph  did  not  answer. 

Almost  in  silence  they  studied  the  church  and 
the  graves,  and  then  they  rode  back  more  slowly, 
not  talking  much — but  the  task  had  begun.  Every 
inch  of  the  road  registered  a  subtle  experiment. 
She  was  drawing  him  into  the  net  that  she  had  set 
for  him — the  wonderful,  mystical  net  of  mental 
and  spiritual  power.  She  was  drawing  on  the 
wild  wishes  of  the  years,  the  multitude  of  stinging 
ideas  that  peopled  her  soul;  and  she  was  placing 
them  in  eye,  on  lips,  in  smiles,  in  gesture — the 
fight  was  on.  She  had  gathered  her  mind  into  one 
supernatural,  burning  wish,  which  she  turned 
boldly  on  Randolph  Turberville. 

It  took  a  little  while  for  bourgeoning  spring  to 


152  A  MAN'S  REACH 

change  its  timid  smile  into  reckless  laughter,  but 
it  broke  at  last  ecstatically.  Laneville  was  a  pastel 
of  softest  pinks  and  whites  and  greens  framed 
by  the  blue  mist  sky  and  the  blue  mist  river.  The 
ivy  on  the  house,  and  the  holly  trees  on  the  edge 
of  the  lawn  were  clustered  with  pale  green  baby 
leaves;  bridal  wreath  leaped  from  the  turf  in 
plumes  of  purity;  peach  trees  rang  with  pinkness; 
pyrus  japonicas  shot  their  red  glory  across  the 
softer  tints,  and  yellow  jessamine  wound  around 
the  stumps  and  ran  up  the  porch  pillars  in  yellow 
gladness. 

Sweeps  of  grass  soft  enough  for  a  soul  to  nestle 
in,  and  sweeps  of  sky,  high  and  blue  enough  for 
the  wildest  hopes,  held  this  riot  of  scent  and  beauty 
as  a  mighty  cathedral  holds  its  frescoes  and  melo- 
dies. These  blues  and  greens,  pinks  and  violets, 
reds  and  yellows — met  mysteriously  in  the  air, 
and  made  the  crimson  of  passion,  the  royal  purple 
of  confidence  and  hope. 

Randolph  and  Lettice  and  even  Mary  Nicolson 
and  Charlotte  grew  dreamy  with  the  dreaming 
air;  they  all  wandered  about  till  the  east  wind 
rose,  then  with  armfuls  of  little  blossoming  things 
they  came  in  to  dream  some  more  before  the  crack- 
ling evening  fires. 

Randolph  was  coming  to  Lettice  just  as  true  as 
the  battered,  storm-swept  vessel  sails  to  port.  He 
was  creeping  into  the  old  confidences  which  had 


A  MAN'S  REACH  153 

opened  so  strangely  between  them.  Gradually 
they  left  the  older  women  for  longer  periods,  and 
talked  low  and  earnestly  in  the  quaint  seclusion 
of  Mr.  Corbin's  library.  This  library  marked  the 
different  masters  as  clearly  as  the  rock  proclaims 
its  period.  Books  ran  from  floor  to  ceiling,  cut  by 
the  doors,  two  deep-seated  windows  and  the  chim- 
ney piece.  The  vital  objects  of  the  room  were 
an  oval  mahogany  table,  a  large  sofa  between  the 
table  and  the  fire,  and  two  winged  chairs  each  side 
of  the  fire-place.  The  chairs  and  the  sofa  were 
covered  in  bright  chintz — peacocks  and  red  roses. 
On  the  table  were  a  lamp,  a  Bible,  an  ancestral 
illustrated  Shakespeare,  and  a  paper  cutter;  and 
over  the  mantel  was  a  fine  picture  of  the  emigrant, 
Henry  Corbin,  painted  in  England  when  a  youth. 
Two  hunt  dogs  stood  beside  him  in  the  picture 
and  the  cry  of  his  soul,  articulate  in  his  young 
eyes — was  victory.  Just  over  the  picture,  burnt 
in  the  panelling,  were  the  arms  of  the  house,  and 
below  on  the  mantel  shelf  were  three  duelling  pis- 
tols. The  Corbins  had  believed  in  the  Code  of 
Honor. 

"  Fight,  and  fight  hard,  if  one  has  to !  "  This 
was  the  motto  of  Laneville,  and  Lettice  was  born 
to  uphold  the  tradition. 

"  Just  the  color  of  the  rain  across  the  river, 
so  serious  and  tender,"  was  the  thought  of  Lettice 
a  few  days  afterwards,  as  she  ran  through  the 


154  A  MAN'S  REACH 

river  porch  into  the  Laneville  hall.  It  was  the 
sight  of  Charlotte  Turberville's  eyes  that  produced 
it.  She  was  standing  at  the  window  gazing  over 
the  long  rose-walk,  red  with  young  wood  and 
merry  with  new  leaves,  at  the  river,  still  and 
gray  to-day  as  a  dead  eagle's  wing.  Her  soft, 
black  mourning  hung  straight  as  a  streamer  on  a 
mourner's  door-bell;  it  took  the  blue  out  of  her 
eyes,  and  beyond  their  pale  calm  Lettice  perceived 
misery,  doubt,  apprehension,  perplexity.  "  I  won- 
der what  she  is  thinking  about?  I  know  what 
she  is  thinking  about.  I  am  thinking  about  it, 
too,  old  friend !  " 

"  You've  let  the  fire  go  out."  Lettice,  entering 
the  room  like  a  fresh  breeze,  went  quickly  to  the 
chimney-piece  and  pulled  the  green  bell-cord. 
"  No  wonder  your  eyes  were  gray ;  this  dampness 
goes  to  your  bones.  Roily  " — the  little  negro's 
response  was  incredibly  quick — "  make  haste  and 
bring  in  some  chips  and  a  log,  it  is  cold  to-day." 

Rolly's  lightwood  and  chips  were  soon  gambol- 
ling with  the  grave  hickory  log  like  care- free  chil- 
dren in  the  lap  of  a  grandfather — and  Chattie  and 
Lettice  enjoying  the  game. 

"  There  should  be  no  April  showers,  Mrs. 
Turberville,  only  very  pale,  tepid  sunshine,  and  we 
all  should  swing  gently  in  it — no  thinking,  no 
doing,  just  living  and  dreaming.  Wouldn't  you 
like  that?" 


A  MAN'S  REACH  155 

"  Swinging  always  made  me  giddy,  Lettice :  I 
should  like  not  to  think." 

"  Thinking  is  horrible — so  persistent — incorri- 
gible. If  one  could  only  think  directly  to  a  con- 
clusion, but  thoughts  go  zig-zag  in  hog-paths :  but 
you  are  not  to  think  your  eyes  gray,  I  love  the  blue 
of  them.  Think  aloud  to  me,  maybe  I  can  make  it 
easier." 

Chattie's  eyes  had  turned  bluer  for  the  picture 
in  the  chair  beside  her.  Lettice,  with  her  boots  on 
the  fender  and  her  slim  hands  toasting  in  the 
blaze,  was  living  sympathy.  Something  winey 
emanated  from  the  slim  figure  in  her  farming 
clothes,  from  the  rain-rose  of  her  face  leaping 
from  the  restraint  of  her  oil-cloth  cap. 

"  You "  Charlotte  began. 

"  Wait  a  minute.  With  the  pale,  tepid  sunshine, 
the  swinging  and  the  dreams  I  would  have  always 
the  fluting  of  Robin  Hood.  Listen — listen! 
Doesn't  he  make  you  feel  better  ?  I  know  his  pip- 
ing from  all  the  rest.  Bravo,  bravo,  little  man !  " 
as  the  bird  stopped.  "  He  has  been  singing  to  me 
all  the  morning — everywhere  I  went.  He  knows 
a  thing  or  two." 

The  older  woman's  smile  was  a  little  bit  discour- 
aging, but  she  asked  with  interest :  "  What  have 
you  been  doing  out  so  long?  " 

"  Everything.  I'm  trying  to  be  a  just  steward. 
If  there  were  an  egg,  or  a  calf,  or  a  lamb  less  this 


156  A  MAN'S  REACH 

year  than  last  year,  I  would  feel  like  an  unjust 
steward,  and  that  papa  would  say,  sternly,  when 
he  returned :  '  Write  quickly  what  thou  owest ! ' 
I  am  on  trial  for  my  intelligence,  my  fidelity.  I 
thought  certainly  there  would  be  a  calf  less  to-day ; 
and  I  have  been  bringing  a  small  baby- jersey  back 
to  life  by  means  of  a  coffee-pot  spout.  Swathed 
with  white  linen  and  conveying  drops  of  warm 
milk,  that  spout  has  saved  my  credit,  I  hope," 
looking  at  the  clock.  "  Eleven-thirty,  I've  got  to 
feed  him  again  at  one.  I  wonder  where  Randolph 
is ;  he  generally  helps  me  to  resuscitate  lambs  and 
calves  and  gaping  chickens — they  are  the  most 
unresponsive  of  our  dumb  invalids." 

"  I  thought  Randolph  was  with  you." 

"  Not  since  breakfast." 

"  I  wonder  where  he  is  this  rainy  morning." 

"  In  his  room,  I  reckon." 

In  the  heart  of  each  woman  was  the  desire  to 
see  where  Randolph  was,  and  also  in  each  heart 
was  the  hesitation  to  intrude  upon  a  man's  liberty. 

"  Randolph  is  getting  restless,  Lettice ;  haven't 
you  noticed  it  ?  " 

"  He  has  been  restless — all  the  time." 

"  In  a  way,  yes ;  but  it  was  to  me,  or  at  least,  I 
tried  to  see  in  it,  the  restlessness  of  convalescence. 
Now  it  seems  to  me  the  restlessness  of  *  no  use '  of 
despondence." 

"  I  have  not  seen  it  that  way.     Last  night  he 


A  MAN'S  REACH  157 

seemed  to  enjoy  our  bridge — didn't  you  think  so  ? 
And  he  chuckled  over  William  Green  Hill.  Not 
the  highest  kind  of  humor,  by  any  means ;  but  if  it 
amuses  Randolph,  it  has  done  more  than  Dickens 
or  Mark  Twain  have  been  able  to  do  lately." 

Neither  spoke  for  a  long  time. 

Then  Charlotte  almost  whispered :  "  He  wants 
to  go  home." 

The  five  words  meant  to  Lettice :  "  All  for  noth- 
ing— all  for  nothing!"  A  rebellious  inner  voice 
whispered,  "  God  has  fooled  you." 

"  He  hasn't,"  the  girl  said  aloud. 

"  Hasn't  what  ?  "  Mrs.  Turberville  was  startled. 

"  Nothing.  Did  Randolph  say  he  wanted  to 
go,  or  do  you  just  think  so  ?  " 

"  He  said  we  had  been  here  too  long." 

"When  did  he  say  so?" 

"  This  morning."  Charlotte  clasped  her  hands 
very  tightly,  as  if  trying  to  make  up  her  mind  to 
say  something.  "  Do  you  think  he  has  been  drink- 
ing since  he  has  been  here  ?  "  in  a  whisper. 

"  I  do." 

"Why?" 

"  I  have  noticed  how  spicy  his  breath  was.  He 
told  me  the  night  he  came  that  he  had  brought 
whiskey,  and  Amos  tells  me  he  gives  him  a  little 
to  ease  him  off — that  he  can't  do  without  it  yet : 
Amos  says  if  there  is  anything  he  knows  about  it's 
whiskey  and  religion,  that  too  much  of  either 


158  A  MAN'S  REACH 

makes  a  man  a  fool,  but  that  he  knows  exactly  how 
much  it  takes — and  that  he  is  giving  Randolph  '  so 
much  and  no  more — leetler  and  leetler  every 
day.'  " 

"  Oh,  me !  "  His  mother  sighed.  "  I  was  so 
much  in  hopes  he  was  taking  none." 

"  That  would  have  been  impossible,  dear  Mrs. 
Turberville,  fever  don't  go  off  all  at  once;  it 
lowers,  and  lowers, — and  the  doctor  watches  so 
very  closely ;  and  when  the  hour  comes  for  heroic 
action,  he  acts.  Do  you  know  the  way  mama 
shortened  my  flannel  petticoats  when  I  was  tak- 
ing off  long  clothes  ?  She  snipped  a  bit  off  every 
day  to  keep  me  from  catching  cold — the  abbrevi- 
ation must  not  be  too  sudden.  She  snipped  and 
snipped,  until  the  flannel  was  away  above  my 
little  feet :  did  you  do  Randolph's  so,  too  ?  That's 
the  way  with  drugs  and  whiskeys ;  snip,  snip,  snip 
a  little  every  day:  prepare  the  patient  for  the 
tremendous  final  test — the  breaking  off  for  good 
and  all.  That  is  what  I  am  waiting  for.  Mrs. 
Turberville,  I  have  a  great  big,  audacious  plan: 
I  can't  speak  of  it,  even  to  you.  Words  might 
weaken  it.  I  must  concentrate  all  my  will,  all  my 
zeal,  all  my  hope,  all  my  faith  on  that  plan :  in  a 
way,  I  am  awfully  superstitious — I  am  afraid  if 
I  tell,  it  will  break  the  spell :  but  Mrs.  Turberville, 
Randolph  must  stay  here ;  you  must  not  permit  him 
to  think  of  going  away."  The  face  of  Lettice, 


A  MAN'S  REACH  150 

close  to  Chattie  now,  was  tense  with  determination. 

"  How  can  I  keep  him,  if  he  minds  to  go?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  but  you  must." 

"  We  have  been  here  three  weeks,  dear  Lettice ; 
a  long  time  to  impose  on  your  father's  hospitality. 
Mary  Nicolson  will " 

"  That  doesn't  make  a  bit  of  difference ;  besides, 
Cousin  Mary  doesn't  think  when  she  is  amused. 
And  it's  all  tommyrot  about  papa's  hospitality; 
he  would  have  sailed  on  the  next  boat,  if  he  had 
had  to  leave  both  kidneys  behind,  if  he  knew  Ran- 
dolph was  here :  but  he  don't  know,  and  he  won't 
know  until  I  tell  him :  which  I  will  do  the  minute 
I  see  him.  In  the  meantime  the  only  thing  in 
the  world  to  you  and  me  at  the  present  moment 
is  to  stop  Randolph  Turberville  from  drinking 
whiskey,  or  to  try  to  stop  him.  There  is  no  risk 
I  wouldn't  run  to  do  it ;  I  believe  I  would  lie  and 
steal — do  anything.  If  we  cannot  ever  do  it, 
we  can't,  that's  all  about  it.  But  Mrs.  Turberville, 
I  verily  believe  I  can.  It  seems  to  me  God  tells  me 
I  can.  Anyway,  I  am  going  to  try,  try  my  level 
best.  You  must  not  ask  me  a  question,  but  you 
must  do  everything  in  your  power  to  keep  Ran- 
dolph here.  The  very  minute  he  leaves  this  place 
without  giving  himself  a  fair  trial — I  believe  he  is 
lost.  With  all  your  might  and  main,  keep  him  here 
if  you  can!  "  The  girl's  weird  earnestness  low- 
ered ;  she  caught  her  breath  and  smiled,  "  Do  you 


160  A  MAN'S  REACH 

think  me  crazy,  dear,  precious  Mrs.  Turberville  ?  " 
She  kissed  the  older  woman  on  her  forehead,  add- 
ing, "God  bless  you!" 

"Want  more  chips,  Miss  Lettice?"  Rolly's 
restful  face  was  in  the  door. 

"  Yes,  a  heap,  Roily."  Lettice  spoke  with  ex- 
citement. "  I  seem  to  get  hot  and  cold  in  spots." 

Neither  Charlotte  nor  Lettice  knew  that  Mary 
Nicolson  had  come  in  until  she  asked  querulously : 
"  Where  did  Randolph  go  on  horseback  ?  " 


XIV 

IT  was  not  a  very  cheerful  trio  that  sat  before 
the  fire  in  the  Laneville  drawing-room  at  twilight 
of  this  rainy  day.  At  Laneville  nobody  ever  came 
to  supper  from  the  library,  the  sitting-room  or  a 
bed-room :  the  family  and  the  guests,  according  to 
an  unwritten  law,  always  collected  in  the  drawing- 
room  just  before  the  evening  meal;  and  here  Mrs. 
Turberville,  Mary  Nicolson  and  Lettice  sat  now — 
expectant.  Each  in  her  own  way  was  uncom- 
fortable; Mary  Nicolson — because  she  could  not 
with  impunity  tell  her  thoughts,  speak  her  mind: 
every  fold  of  her  stiff  silk  dress,  every  line  of  her 
thin  face,  every  hair  of  her  severe  head  wore  the 
expression — "  I  told  you  so." 

Randolph's  mother  was  generally  miserable, 
chiefly  to-night,  however,  because  she  knew  that 
her  staunch  little  friend  was  miserable,  too.  She 
would  feel  better  if  she  were  miserable  all  by  her- 
self. Lettice  was  miserable  because  she  was  afraid 
that  Randolph,  with  the  slyness  of  the  diseased  and 
drunken,  had  fled  her  custody  and  thus  put  an  end 
to  her  experiment — the  thing  for  which  she  had 
lived ;  and  for  which  she  was  ready  to  die. 

The  rain  beat  the  windows,  as  if  crying  to  be  let 
in:  and  the  wind  moaned  and  then  waited  for 

11  161 


162  A  MAN'S  REACH 

strength  to  moan  louder :  at  last  the  supper  bell,  in 
cheery  distinctness,  gave  them  all  something  pleas- 
ant to  do. 

When  the  three  were  seated,  Amos  came  in  as 
usual  with  the  bread. 

The  old  colored  servant  had  a  code  of  conduct 
peculiarly  his  own  which  he  very  highly  respected : 
it  would  have  been  improper  for  him  to  say  what 
he  had  to  say  to  either  of  the  ladies  alone.  This 
might  suggest  that  Randolph  was  doing  something 
of  which  he  or  they  might  be  ashamed,  and  there- 
fore no  way  to  treat  a  gentleman.  What  he  had  to 
say  must  be  said  quietly  to  them  all,  as  if  nothing 
were  to  pay.  He  stood  a  moment  behind  the  chair 
of  Lettice,  the  silver  bread  basket  in  his  hand,  and 
deliberately  stated  "  Marse  Randuff  won't  be  home 
to-night:  it's  raining  too  hard,  and  de  roads  too 
bad  for  a  city  gemmen  what's  not  used  to  'em.  He 
be  home  to-morrer  jes  soon's  I  kin  fotch  him.  I 
brung  Hampton  home  case  he  got  a  tech  o'  dis- 
temper anyhow,  an'  needs  he  own  stall.  Marse 
Randuff  is  all  right,  ladies,  all  right !  " 

"But    where    is    Randolph,    Uncle    Amos?" 

Lettice  was  very  serious. 

"  Nowhere  in  de  wurrld,  Miss  Lettice,  but  wid 
de  gemmen  at  de  cote  house." 

"  I  have  always  noticed  " — Cousin  Mary  Nicol- 
son  would  have  died  to  have  held  her  tongue  any 
longer — "  that  court  houses  have  a  strange  fascin- 


A  MAN'S  REACH  163 

ation  for  men,  even  when  there  is  no  court — I 
wonder  why?  " 

"  There  is  much  about  men  that  we  women  can't 
understand."  Charlotte  was  trying  to  be  pleasant 
and  impersonal.  "  They  are  enigmas  without 
many  good  answers." 

"  I  don't  think  Randolph  is  a  bit  of  an  enigma : 
he  simply  was  worn  out  with  us  and  had  to  see 
somebody  else.  I  don't  much  blame  him,"  thus 
Lettice  defended  with  spirit. 

"  You  don't  ?  "  asked  Mary  Nicolson  icily. 

That  night  was  a  bad  one  for  Lettice.  If  only 
she  could  be  sincere!  If  only  she  could  abandon 
herself  to  diatribes  upon  Randolph's  condition,  his 
needs,  the  possibility  of  his  recovery :  instead,  she 
must,  according  to  convention,  talk  of  everything 
beneath  the  sun  except  Randolph  Turberville;  he 
was  too  delicate  a  subject  to  be  broached.  So  they 
played  bridge  with  dummy,  and  the  only  way  she 
could  express  her  feeling  was  to  beat  Charlotte 
and  Cousin  Mary  out  of  their  boots. 

At  eleven,  Amos,  the  candles  and  bed — but  no 
sleep  for  Lettice !  She  had  the  sensation  of  having 
missed  a  railroad  train  or  a  steamboat ;  or  of  hav- 
ing put  a  letter  in  the  box  without  a  stamp.  Had 
she  missed  her  chance? 

Free  from  stays  and  hairpins  and  wrapped  like 
a  mummy  in  her  thick,  well-worn  dressing  gown, 
she  crouched  close  to  the  fender  and  peered  into 


164  A  MAN'S  BEACH 

the  fire.  She  wanted  a  tongue  of  flame  in  every 
pore.  She  wanted  to  blaze:  she  had  dillydallied 
long  enough :  three  precious  weeks  gone  and  not 
one  thing  accomplished — rather  the  contrary.  She 
knew  what  she  intended  to  do;  why  had  not  she 
done  it? 

"  I  can,  I  can, — if  only  he  will  let  me  try. 
Has  he  run  away  because  he  suspects?  Why 
should  there  be  any  suspicion  or  secrecy?  Why 
should  not  I  say,  right  out,  '  Hold  still,  Randolph, 
hold  still  and  let  me  cure  you  '  ?  " 

Piece  after  piece  of  wood  did  the  girl  throw  on 
her  fire  till  not  a  stick  was  left :  she  put  the  chunks 
together  again  and  again,  and  they  all  had  burnt 
to  one  glowing  coal.  She  went  to  her  window  to 
raise  it,  but  waited  a  moment:  there  was  power 
and  eloquence  in  the  wild  night,  and  before  she  let 
it  in  to  strengthen  her  lungs,  to  hasten  sleep,  she 
would  study  its  strange  methods.  Why  the  angry 
wind,  the  thousand  rain-fingers  beating  gruesome 
discord  ?  Why  ?  Why  ?  Why  the  fierce  human 
will,  subjugating,  healing,  curing?  The  wind  and 
rain — out  there:  the  fierceness  of  a  woman's  will 
here. 

Through  the  storm  she  saw  the  tall  monument 
to  Henry  Corbin  in  the  graveyard  at  the  back  of 
the  garden :  the  willow  tree,  towering  over  it,  had 
gone  mad  and  was  lashing  the  marble  with  long 
supple  withes — lashing  it  furiously;  it  knew  no 


A  MAN'S  REACH  185 

better.  The  rain  sinking  into  the  April  flowers 
had  a  reason  for  its  frenzy — buds  and  blossoms, 
perhaps  to-morrow.  Was  she  going  to  play  with 
flint,  beat  vainly  against  stone  ?  Or  like  the  furious 
rain  would  frantic  energy  mean  light,  color,  fra- 
grance, peace? 

In  bed  she  and  the  storm  were  partners  dancing 
to  the  quick  tune  of  inevitable  action:  the  wind 
swept  from  its  caverns  and  embraced  her  waiting 
forces  and  whirled  them  far  from  prudence  and 
conventionality:  the  rain  gathered  her  reluctance 
and  her  fear  into  a  merry  insinuating  waltz ;  and 
then  placed  them  in  the  mighty  arms  of  the  wind 
which  swayed  and  guided  them  far  from  the  con- 
tempt of  men  to  a  luminous  acclivity,  where  all 
things  are  expedient  that  can  be  done  in  the  name 
of  God. 

No  sleep !  First  a  terrible  "  Suppose, — suppose 
Randolph  never  comes  back."  Then  a  confident 
— "  He  will,  I  know  he  will."  A  young  brain 
throbbing  with  courage  and  fear,  a  young  heart 
aching  for  pity  and  regret ! 

Randolph  did  come  back,  and  perhaps  in  a  bet- 
ter frame  of  mind.  His  mother's  eyes  regained 
their  limpid  blue ;  flowers  sprung  gladly  after  days 
of  rain ;  Mary  Nicolson,  even,  responded  to  the  be- 
wildering loveliness  of  the  April  earth ;  and  Amos 
informed  Lettice  that  "  Marse  Randuff  were  git- 
tin*  more  better  good-natured  ev'y  day.  He 


166  A  MAN'S  REACH 

'low  he  hongry,  he  'low  he  sleep,  he  feel,  he  feel 
like  'tother  folks  feel — dat  how  he  feel.  He  'gin- 
nin'  to  think  sump'n  of  heself,  an'  ef  a  pusson  don' 
think  er  heap  er  heself — who  gwineter?  An' 
mosoever  an'  betternall  Marse  Randuff  is  slowin' 
down  on  he  dram." 

Unmistakably,  Randolph  was  responding  to 
silent  treatment.  His  skin  was  clearer,  the  fine 
red  lines  in  the  white  of  his  eyes  had  almost  dis- 
appeared ;  and  his  hair,  though  worn  too  long,  had 
lost  some  of  its  dryness  and  was  actually  trying 
once  more  to  wave  around  his  forehead.  The  first 
shoots  of  his  dead  self  evidently  were  springing. 

His  affection  for  his  mother  had  assumed  its  old 
demonstrative  freedom:  he  laughed  involuntarily 
at  the  jokes  of  Lettice:  and  actually,  in  good 
nature,  teased  Cousin  Mary  Nicolson. 

Upon  a  wonderful  morning,  about  ten  days 
after  the  rainy  day,  he  announced,  "  I  did  not 
touch  a  drop  of  whiskey  yesterday,  and  I  slept 
like  a  baby  all  night." 

Cousin  Mary  stiffened  and  looked  in  her  plate : 
she'd  rather  one  talked  of  committing  adultery 
than  of  drinking  whiskey. 

Lettice,  who  had  lifted  the  top  of  the  urn  to  see 
why  the  coffee  did  not  pour,  let  it  fly  back  with  a 
snap :  then  she  clapped  her  hands  with  a  cheerful 
"  Good." 

"  Lettice !  "  Cousin  Mary  was  very  stern. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  187 


.. 


What  is  the  matter,  Cousin  Mary?  Why 
should  we  be  always  saying  what  we  don't  think, 
and  especially  thinking  what  we  don't  say?  It 
isn't  to  keep  awful  things  secret,  but  to  run  them 
to  the  open,  and  try  to  get  rid  of  them — am  I  right, 
Randolph?" 

"  You  are  right,"  he  answered  soberly,  but  with 
spirit.  The  subject  was  not  continued. 

Lettice  and  Randolph  were  soon  out  seeing  to 
this  and  that  and  everything:  the  calf  had  been 
saved  by  the  coffee-pot  spout  and  was  well  on  its 
four  legs:  lambs  dotted  the  green  meadow  like 
splotches  of  foam  on  a  pea-green  sea:  plowmen 
slowly  tracked  the  wide  brown  fields :  and  singing 
birds  and  clucking  hens  told  the  old,  old  story  of 
maternity  and  care. 

Sweet,  new  life  was  peeping:  by  the  barns  they 
gathered  the  careless  children  of  nature's  garden — 
stolid  toothwort,  pale  carydalis,  saxifrage  and 
henbane:  at  least  Lettice  gathered  them  arid  dis- 
played their  unobtrusive  beauty  to  Randolph. 
Every  smile  of  God  was  a  little  life-line. 

In  the  fowlyard  the  big  Plymouth  Rocks  were 
jealous  of  their  restless  chicks;  and  one  fluffy 
mother  walked  all  over  her  brood. 

"  Step-mothers,"  Lettice  smiled. 

Randolph  held  up  his  hands:  it  was  too  bad, 
but  he  quickly  answered,  "  The  mother  of  the 
chicken  is  the  hen  that  lays  the  egg." 


168  A  MAN'S  REACH 

"  And  this  hen  did  not  lay  the  egg,  because 
she  step " 

"  Oh,  pshaw,"  he  interrupted,  "  no  way  of  prov- 
ing it!" 

Everything  was  easier  this  crisp,  spring  morn- 
ing. Randolph's  morbid  self -consciousness  was 
less  apparent,  and  both  of  them  were  dashing  at 
everything  with  the  old,  merry  spirit.  Randolph 
had  not  yet  displayed  a  bit  of  physical  agility,  and 
Lettice  could  but  compare  his  present  indolence 
with  the  activity  of  her  foot-ball  hero :  would  Ran- 
dolph ever  show  his  athletic  side  again  ? 

Somebody  had  left  the  garden  gate  open  and  a 
frisky  colt  was  rollicking  over  the  flower  beds. 

"  Let's  drive  him  out  Randolph !  "  Lettice  was 
already  in  the  blossoming  old  garden. 

"  Me  against  the  colt — what  chance  for  me?  " 
Randolph  was  waving  a  stick,  and  uttering  violent 
threats  which  the  beautiful  young  animal  utterly 
disregarded. 

"  Come  on,  Randolph ;  run  him  out !  " 

"  Run !  "    Randolph's  tone  was  sarcastic. 

"Yes,  run.  Why  not?  You  can  if  you  try. 
I  believe  you  would  like  never  to  try.  Come  on ; 
don't  you  see  the  colt  is  about  to  trample  the 
peonies  ?  Peonies  are  papa's  darlings :  there  must 
not  be  a  bud  less  this  year.  Run,  Randolph ;  drive 
the  colt  away !  " 

Lettice  had  been  darting  hither  and  yonder ;  she 


A  MAN'S  REACH  169 

had  raced  the  sunbonnet  off  her  head — the  little 
blue  sunbonnet  she  had  promised  her  mother  to 
wear  on  account  of  freckles — and  now  breathless 
and  bonnetless,  she  sat  on  a  garden  bench  com- 
manding Randolph  to  run :  and  he  ran. 

No  use  to  fear  for  Randolph's  lost  agility: 
Lettice  could  not  tell  which  was  the  nimbler,  he 
or  the  colt.  A  boyish  energy  had  superseded 
Randolph's  indolence  and  Lettice  cheered  his  re- 
covered spirit,  chuckling  gleefully  over  the  victory 
he  at  last  won. 

Later  they  went  for  the  mail.  Instead  of  wait- 
ing for  the  rural  deliverer,  it  was  now  the  custom 
of  Randolph  to  go  to  the  post-office  and  fetch  it. 
Usually  Lettice  went  with  him. 

This  morning  they  stepped  along  the  embowered 
bridle  paths  in  silence :  the  ecstasy  of  nature  was 
enough :  the  crimson  on  the  dove's  breast,  the 
warm,  intoxicating  air,  the  blend  of  insinuating 
odor  produced  delicious  little  thrills  which  sur- 
prised Randolph.  He  did  not  like  even  this  faint 
tingle ;  it  must  be  repressed ;  he  must  talk — silence 
encouraged  it. 

"  I  be  dogged  if  you  didn't  make  me  run.  I 
didn't  believe  I  could  do  it." 

"  I'll  make  you  do  something  else,  before  I  get 
through,  see  if  I  don't." 

"  Something  else?  "     Slowly. 

"  Umph — umph  " — dreamily,   and  then  as  if 


170  A  MAN'S  REACH 

suddenly  awaking — "  Randolph,  I've  got  designs 
on  you !  When  you  leave  Laneville,  you — will — 
have — become  able — to — dispense  with  all — things 
— that — hurt — you." 

Lettice  did  not  look  at  Randolph,  but  at  the  sky ; 
and  her  words  were  like  bolts  of  conviction  slowly 
hurled  at  him.  They  possessed  a  solemnity  that 
Randolph  dare  not  resist. 

"  All  right,"  he  said,  solemnly,  too.  "  You  are 
queer,  Lettice;  sometimes  I  am  afraid  of  you." 

"  Not  afraid,  impressed,  rather ;  that's  what  I 
want  you  to  be." 

"  You  know  I  always  fancied  mysticism ;  aren't 
you  a  bit  of  a  mystic?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  am ;  wish  I  did.  Elsie 
Vennerish,  maybe." 

"  Never,"  emphatically.  "  Archangelish,  a-a-a- 
a-a " 

Their  eyes  met,  color  rose  to  the  cheek  of  each, 
and  both  quickly  looked  the  other  way,  and  forced 
their  horses  to  a  canter. 

Presently  they  passed  through  a  magnificent 
skirt  of  wood ;  beeches,  oaks  and  hickories  arched 
the  quiet  roadway.  Their  horses  fell  from  a  canter 
to  a  walk,  as  if  in  reverence.  Randolph  removed 
his  close  riding  cap;  Lettice  was  already  bare- 
headed. 

"  These  trees  seem  to  take  hold  of  your  hair 


A  MAN'S  REACH  171 

and  press  from  it  as  many  shades  of  gold  as  they 
have  green." 

Lettice  was  surprised :  it  was  the  first  time  he 
had  alluded  to  her  personally.  In  the  old  days, 
now  so  very,  very  old,  he  often  openly  admired 
her  hair,  her  eyes,  her  smile,  her  mental  pyro- 
technics; but  never  yet  during  this  strange, 
pivotal  visit. 

"  To  me,  Randolph,  these  trees  with  their  ma- 
jestic dignity,  draw  the  very  soul  from  me  and 
send  it  upward,  upward,  to "  She  was  over- 
come with  emotion,  and  could  not  finish. 

"  It's  a  shame,  a  crying  shame "  Randolph 

could  not  finish  either. 

"  What's  a  shame,  Randolph?  " 

"  Nothing,"  very  quickly. 

The  horses  stepped  slowly  along  as  if  giving 
them  time  to  hear  the  appeal  of  the  towering 
trees,  the  melody  of  the  "  Quaker  ladies  "  so  thick 
upon  the  way,  the  benediction  of  the  far-off  sky. 

Out  of  the  wood  Laneville  burst  upon  them 
through  a  vista  of  trees. 

"  It  is  splendid  in  its  silence."  Randolph  took 
off  his  cap  again. 

"  The  sight  of  it  means  everything  on  earth  to 
me."  Lettice  was  still  serious.  "  There  is  no 
holy  sensation  that  it  does  not  revive.  I  used  to 
kick  hard  against  the  pricks  of  Laneville,  the  cease- 
less admonitions,  the  never-ending  restrictions: 


178  A  MAN'S  REACH 

I  am  reconciled  to  them  all  now.  Beyond  these 
infinitesimal  aggravations  are  depths  which  it  took 
me  a  long  time  to  sound.  I  would  not  be  doing 
what  I  am  doing  now  but  for  the  courage,  the 
consecration  of  Laneville.  I  am  doing  something 
of  which  Laneville  never  heard,  and  yet  I  am  try- 
ing to  do  what  Laneville  teaches." 

"  What  are  you  trying  to  do,  Lettice  ?  "  Ran- 
dolph was  very  serious,  too. 

She  was  not  afraid  to  look  straight  at  him  now. 
"  I  am  trying  to  thrust  my  will  into  your  will, 
Randolph.  I  am  trying  to  get  at  a  man's  soul; 
instead  of  blood  transfusion  it  is  soul  transfusion. 

Won't  you,  can't  you "  She  could  not  say 

any  more,  but  tightened  her  rein  on  Kitty  Fisher 
and  far  outdistanced  Randolph  to  the  house  gate. 


XV 

FOR  about  a  week  longer  they  moved  along,  as 
they  had  moved  for  over  a  month.  Charlotte 
thought  she  should  be  going  home  and  Randolph, 
too.  It  was  all  Lettice  could  do  to  stay  them. 
She  herself  was  physically  depleted  by  her  strange 
and  as  yet  ineffectual  task.  Her  color  was  fading, 
she  had  no  appetite,  her  whole  being  was  yielding 
to  the  clutch  of  her  high-keyed  soul. 

After  the  ride  through  the  sweet  spring  world 
Randolph's  usual  depression  returned,  there  was 
a  pleading  weariness  in  his  eyes,  his  talk  was 
forced:  and  the  feelings  of  Lettice  were  similar 
to  those  of  a  mother,  who  had  been  trying  hard 
to  keep  her  babe  from  a  sucking-bottle  by  every 
diversion  known  to  the  baby  world,  and  who  had 
at  last  concluded  that  the  hour  had  come  for  heroic 
measures:  she  could  not  stand  the  whining  and 
the  fretting  any  longer. 

The  day  had  been  long  and  trying,  the  nerves 
of  everybody  were  on  edge ;  and  Lettice  was  sure 
that  if  she  did  not  do  something  quick  she  would 
never  do  it  at  all:  they  would  all  fly  apart  like 
sparks  from  a  condemned  sky-rocket. 

She  noticed  that  Randolph  ate  no  supper,  and 
she  herself  had  forced  every  mouthful.  Well, 

173 


174  A  MAN'S  REACH 

perhaps  a  starved  body  would  quicken  the  action 
of  her  spirit ;  anyway,  she  believed  the  hour  could 
be  no  longer  delayed,  and  immediately  after  sup- 
per she  said  to  Randolph:  "Let's  go  into  the 
library." 

A  wood  fire  sensed  the  spirit  of  the  room  and 
voiced  the  impression  it  distilled.  Amidst  its 
inspiration  Lettice  Corbin  was  actually  going 
to  begin  to  tap  Randolph  Turberville's  soul.  She 
need  fear  no  interruption;  evening  visitors  were 
almost  unknown  to  Laneville  unless  invited,  and 
Chattie  and  Mary  Nicolson  were  fastened  to  the 
drawing-room  lamp  and  new  stitches,  which  they 
were  learning  from  a  knitting  book  just  come 
through  the  mail. 

Randolph  took  one  of  the  winged  chairs,  and 
Lettice  made  herself  small  in  the  corner  of  the 
sofa.  Neither  spoke  at  first,  they  were  as  fixed 
as  if  in  a  game  of  chess — both  gazing  in  the  fire 
wordless,  wondering. 

The  young  man's  gaze  revolved  to  Lettice  after 
a  while  and  was  as  steady  as  a  star.  Lettice  felt 
it  and  purposely  held  it. 

"  Just  in  this  position  in  the  Murray  library  on 
West  Benjamin  Street,  six  years  ago !  You  shot 
up,  I  down."  He  almost  whispered. 

She  did  not  move  or  speak.  She  was  a  medium 
with  hands  on  the  table. 

**"  I  let  go  something,  lost  my  balance,  gave  up 


A  MAN'S  REACH  175 

to  a  queer  and  potent  suggestion,"  Randolph  con- 
tinued in  a  low  monotone. 

"  You  believe  in  suggestion?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  in  unsuggestion  ?  Counter-suggestion, 
uprooting  suggestion  ?  " 

"  You're  getting  too  deep  for  me  now."  He 
looked  from  Lettice  to  the  fire  and  then  drowsily 
at  her  again.  "Of  course  there  was  a  cell  ready 
for  the  suggestion,  else  it  could  not  have  lodged; 
a  cup  for  the  poisonous  drop,  else  it  were  wasted." 

"  I  know."  She  held  his  eyes  steadily.  She 
willed  to  steep  his  senses  with  herself. 

"  Where  did  the  suggestion  come  from?  "  she 
asked. 

"  I  can't  tell :  it  would  be  disloyal.  I  received 
it  when  I  was  very  young:  I  know  the  moment. 
It  was  night,  I  was  worn  out  and  troubled :  from 
a  legitimate  source  I  got  the  idea  of  the  soothing 
and  resuscitating  power  of  whiskey  (I  might  as 
well  be  plain) — and  that  idea,  that  suggestion 
has  been  the  strongest  part  of  me  ever  since. 
Nothing  I  could  do  would  daunt  it.  Neither  the 
cell  nor  the  suggestion  were  my  fault."  The 
cynical  tendency  enlarged  itself  upon  his  lips, 
and  upon  the  fine  curve  of  his  nose — grown  thicker 
in  these  shadow  years ;  his  tones  were  nasal ;  his 
emphasis  sharp:  a  bitter  taste  was  in  his  mouth. 
"If  my  adversary  had  been  outside,  I  might  have 


176  A  MAN'S  REACH 

slain  him :  but  he  was  within,  encased,  he  fought 
me  in  ambush,  unfairly." 

"  There's  ammunition  for  the  hidden  foe ;  why 
didn't  you  use  it  ?  " 

"  I  seemed  not  to  know  about  it ;  I  was  not  able 
to  find  it." 

"  You  mean  to  say  you  did  not  want  to  find  it." 

"  Try  not  to  be  hard  on  me,  Lettice ;  I  am  a 
miserable  creature,  shrinking,  ungrowing,  failing. 
I  am  conscious  of  abusing  my  nature  until  it  is 
like  a  saucepan  eaten  into  holes  by  rust  and  ex- 
posure; it  cannot  hold  a  gill  of  permanent  reso- 
lution." 

"  You  see  if  it  can't.     I'll  show  you  it  can." 

"  I  am  a  spiritual  beggar,  not  a  spiritual  brute. 
I  have  never  given  myself  to  greed,  injustice, 
cruelty,  gross  egoism;  it  has  been  stimulation, 
frenzy,  depression,  more  stimulation:  the  invin- 
cible suggestion  has  made  me  lopsided,  lacking 
will  either  way  you  took  me,  with  no  superlativ- 
ity  of  bad  or  good.  Long  ago  between  the  clouds 
was  a  vision  of  restored  manliness:  the  clouds 
have  come  together,  the  vision  has  forever  de- 
parted." Randolph  put  his  face  in  his  hands  and 
groaned. 

"  Go  on,  Ran,  go  on,"  Lettice  urged  with  amaz- 
ing kindness ;  she  was  trying  to  put  into  her  tones 
the  soothing  quality  of  mammy's  "  shh-sh-sh-sh- 


A  MAN'S  REACH  177 

sh-sh-sh  "  when  her  own  baby  self  had  been  peev- 
ish and  difficult. 

Not  discerning  the  subtle  power  which  was 
encompassing  him,  Randolph  spoke  on :  "  Once 
in  a  while  the  nerve  centres  of  my  being  have 
rebelled,  and  I  have  seen  light  breaking  on  the 
top  of  my  soul-hills:  remember  how  you  and  I 
used  to  prate  about  soul-hills  ?  Then  I  would  try 
harder  than  you  will  ever  know  to  turn  over 
a  new  leaf,  but  even  with  the  consciousness  of 
your  precious  sympathy,  I'd  get  weary :  I  couldn't 
do  it.  Like  a  whipped  dog  I  followed  my  master, 
Suggestion,  and  drank  more  whiskey  than  ever 
before.  I  felt  so  much  better  drunk  than  sober: 
my  intelligence  would  immediately  revive :  I  was 
'  hail-fellow-well-met '  with  Marcus  Aurelius, 
Plato,  Charles  Lamb,  Sidney  Smith  and  our  be- 
loved Robert  Browning;  and  a  'jolly-good- 
fellow  '  with  all  my  boon  companions.  Reaction, 
of  course,  came  in  its  own  time.  Then  the  old 
high-brows  scampered  off,  and  my  friends-of- 
the-cup  followed  their  example  when  my  jokes 
were  less  pungent.  When  alone,  Lettice,  it  was 
you  that  gave  me  hope,  and  you  that  drove  hope 
away." 

"  Me  ?  "  drawing  closer.    "  Me  ?    How  ?  " 
"  In  the  dusk  of  returning  sobriety  your  face 
would  shine,   lips  parted,   eyes   irresistible,   hair 
waving  '  never  mind  ' — '  here  are  we  to  save  you/ 
12 


178  A  MAN'S  REACH 

Then  your  face  would  fade,  hard  common  sense 
was  pulling  it  back — back,  until  nothing  could 
I  see  but  the  breath  of  your  prayers,  floating 
like  white  birds  over  the  dark  chasm  which 
divided  us."  He  caught  his  breath  as  if  in  pain. 
"  You  prayed  for  me  ?  " 

"  Unceasingly,  when  I  knew  I  was  praying  and 
when  I  didn't  know  I  was  praying — always." 

"  God  bless  you,"  falteringly. 

"  After  a  long,  long  time  I  found  out  that 
prayer  is  action — not  only  feathery  lip-service, 
but  mental  activity." 

"  Then  ?  "  somewhat  puzzled. 

"  Oh,  when  I  realized  that  '  wordy '  prayer  is 
no  more  than  a  handful  of  goose  feathers  in  the 
face  of  a  roaring  beast,  I  began  to  pull  red-hot 
missiles  from  my  heart  and  brain  and  hurl  them 
with  all  my  strength  against  your  difficulties. 
Nothing  worth  while  is  easy,  but  Randolph,  if  I 
had  had  an  idea  of  the  terrible  strain  of  my  task, 
perhaps  I  would  never  have  undertaken  it — I 
don't  know." 

"  You  mean  that  my  condition  is  altogether 
hopeless?  "  with  pitiful  emphasis. 

"  Hopeless?  Of  course  not,  Randolph!  "  Her 
sparkling  eyes,  varnished  storm-clouds,  gathered 
up  all  the  agony  and  depression  of  his  face  and 
returned  it  to  him  explained  and  diminished.  "  I 
am  going  to  cure  you."  A  long,  tense  pause. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  179 

"  I  have  something  in  me  strong  enough  to  enter 
you  and  extract  that  terrible  suggestion  by  the 
roots.  Randolph  Turberville,"  very  slowly  and 
softly,  "  God  put  me  in  this  world  to  save  you." 

Both  had  risen.  The  man  trembled ;  the  woman 
exalted,  unafraid,  went  closer  to  him  and  laid  her 
hand  upon  his  arm. 

"  God !  "  broke  the  rigid  stillness  of  the  listen- 
ing room.  "  You  can't,  it's  too  bad  for  you  to  fool 
yourself."  He  drew  away  from  her,  went  back  to 
the  winged  chair,  grasping  its  firm  arms  as  if  for 
help.  "  I  am  too  old,  too  old,  too  hard ;  I  can't 
stop,  I  haven't  the  strength.  '  The  habit ! '  How 
your  words  at  the  table  the  first  night  we  were 
here  dug  into  my  heart!  I  cannot  stop,  Lettice, 
no  use  to  waste  your  splendid  young  life  on  me.  I 
have  tried ;  you  may  not  believe  me — but  I  have : 
if  I  stop  to-day  I'll  drink  more  to-morrow.  If  I 
gain  the  fight  as  I've  done  to-day,  as  I  do  every 
now  and  then,  the  sly  suggestion  whispers :  *  Bad 
for  your  health,  very  bad;  you've  gone  too  far, 
you  can't  do  without  stimulant.'  If  I  see  a  ray  of 
hope,  as  I  sometimes  do  when  talking  with  you,  it 
fades  before  I  seize  it." 

Lettice  had  listened  patiently,  shaking  her  head 
slowly,  firmly,  in  disagreement.  Yet  the  expres- 
sion of  his  face  absolutely  disarmed  her.  She  had 
seen  the  same  look  on  the  face  of  a  suffering  ani- 


180  A  MAN'S  REACH 

mal,  or  in  the  puckers  on  the  countenance  of  a 
sobbing,  heart-broken  little  child. 

Then  she  summoned  her  retiring  forces  again. 

"  The  suggestion  whispers  ?  We  must  shut  its 
mouth."  She  tried  to  smile.  He  didn't  smile 
back.  "  Your  ideals  are  above  your  power  of 
action.  You  need  all  sorts  of  help,  and  I  am  going 
to  give  it  to  you." 

Now  he  did  smile  faintly. 

"  There's  nothing  uncanny  or  irregular  in  what 
I  intend  to  do,  Randolph  dear;  it  is  a  fact  that 
suggestion,  good  or  bad,  subtly,  surely,  rules  our 
lives.  You  are  coerced  by  the  whiskey  sugges- 
tion: I  am  going  to  eradicate  that  and  fill  you 
with  the  anti-whiskey  suggestion.  You've  got  to 
help  me  to  do  it,  you  gave  your  heart  to  me  once, 
Randolph,"  with  heavenly  sweetness,  her  words 
fell.  "  Now  you've  got  to  give  me  more  than 
your  heart :  you've  got  to  give  me  your  heart,  your 
head,  everything." 

"  Take  all ! "  he  breathed  rather  than  said. 

"  I  want  you  to  live  in  me  for  a  little  while. 
I  want  you  to  feel  that  all  I  am  trying  to  do  for 
you  is  in — in — "  She  could  not  exactly  express 
herself. 

"  L "  he  began,  but  he  could  not  finish ;  the 

word  was  too  big  for  him. 

"  Habit  makes  crooked  paths  in  the  soul ;  my 
spirit  is  going  to  dig  a  ditch  beneath  those  ugly 


A  MAN'S  REACH  181 

paths  and  cast  the  soil  of  which  they  are  made 
entirely  out  of  your  existence."  She  moved  her 
hands  up  and  down,  above  her  head  and  down  to 
her  lap.  There  was  certainly  less  resistance  about 
Randolph;  he  was  unconsciously  yielding  to  her 
opinion.  She  realized  his  plasticity  and  took 
fresh  heart. 

"  I  am  going  to  show  you,  Randolph,  that  you 
really  detest  intoxication — and  I  am  going  to  make 
this  idea  rule  you :  all  that  you've  got  to  do  is  to 
believe.  Won't  you  try  to  believe  ?  " 

"  Y-e-e-s."  His  weary  eyes,  stirred  with  a 
faint  hope,  met  hers  appealingly. 

"  Only  believe !  "  Lettice  was  near  him  again, 
her  hands  outstretched. 

With  a  cry  he  arose  and  clasped  them  as  if 
for  life  or  death;  then  he  let  them  go  and  stood 
trembling,  puzzled;  his  arms  limp  and  helpless  at 
his  side. 

The  look  of  his  white,  strained  face,  so  yearn- 
ing in  its  weakness,  overwhelmed  Lettice;  she 
could  hardly  restrain  the  sob  in  her  throat ;  every 
instinct  of  her  nature  rose  to  succor  and  help — 
he  should  not  perish ! 

She  now  swung  her  words  a  little  more  im- 
personally :  "  Do  you  remember  "the  day  at  the 
University  that  we  read  Heine  on  the  west  lawn  ? 
I  can  hear  you  now.  It  is  not  we  who  master 
our  ideas.  It  is  our  ideas  that  master  us,  and 


182  A  MAN'S  REACH 

drive  us  into  the  arena  where  as  gladiators  we 
must  fight  for  them.  I  am  your  gladiator,  Son- 
Boy,  and  my  idea  will  never  let  me  go."  She 
rose  and  waved  her  right  arm  triumphantly. 
"  Your  gladiator,  Son-Boy,  dashing,  plunging, 
with  lance  extended  for  my  idea!" 

He  was  very  grave,  almost  bewildered,  irrespon- 
sive, painfully  silent. 

A  burnt  log  broke  and  fell  on  the  coals:  it 
startled  them  both.  Lettice  went  to  the  hearth, 
took  up  the  tongs,  and  put  the  pieces  together. 
Then  she  opened  the  wood-box,  picked  out  two 
lightwood  knots,  laid  them  on  the  glowing  chunks, 
lowered  the  lamp  and  blew  it  out.  She  had  done 
the  same  thing  in  the  Murray  library  years  ago. 

The  knots  hissed,  spluttered  and  blazed  yellow 
in  the  faces  of  these  interlacing  personalities,  send- 
ing gyrating  shadows  on  the  high  ceiling.  Neither 
spoke:  Lettice  fixed  her  eyes  on  Randolph  until 
he  seemed  to  contract,  lose  himself  in  her  senses. 
She  liked  this ;  she  wished  to  let  him  steep  in  her 
individuality. 

Presently  she  began  in  a  dull  monotone :  "  We 
are  partners,  by  God's  will,  and  we  must  do  the 
best  we  can.  Our  firm  is  burdened  with  mort- 
gages, debts :  must  we  go  into  bankruptcy  ?  That's 
a,n  easy  way  of  doing.  I  think  we  had  better 
gather  up  all  our  assets  and  see  what  we  can  do 
first;  try  to  restore  our  firm  to  respectability  be- 


A  MAN'S  REACH  183 

fore  we  entirely  give  up.  I've  got  a  lot  of  good 
securities  and  I  am  perfectly  willing  to  use  them 
all  to  save  our  firm — its  name  is  too  good  to  sink 
into  ignominy  and  disrepute.  But  you  have  got  to 
help  me,  Randolph.  Your  part  is  to  believe,  my 
part  is  to  do.  Won't  you  try  to  believe  that  I  can 
cure  you?  Won't  you  put  yourself  into  my  hands 
for  a  little  while?  Mine  are  a  woman's  weak 
hands,  mine  is  a  woman's  infrangible  will."  Once 
more  she  was  up  and  close  to  him.  "  But  in  them 
is  healing,  if  you  will  believe." 

Through  his  blue  eyes  shot  lines  of  hope,  like 
a  sick  baby  suddenly  stretching  its  reviving  limbs. 
Lettice  sunk  on  the  wide  arm  of  his  winged  chair 
and  he  put  his  hand  on  her  bare  arm.  His  fingers 
were  hot  and  trembled :  "  I  should  like  to  tell  you 
something,"  he  whispered,  "  but,  but " 

"Never  mind,  never  mind,"  she  interrupted; 
"  don't  talk,  don't  try,  just  believe  as  I  believe." 

Suddenly  he  gave  Lettice  the  impression  of 
drawing  himself  from  her,  and  on  his  face  was  a 
strange  look,  either  of  apprehension  or  of  sus- 
picion— she  could  not  tell  which ;  but  it  banished 
hesitation  and  made  her  solicitude,  her  determina- 
tion, at  once  professional. 

She  fell  on  her  knees  at  the  feet  of  the  big  chair 
with  her  white  hands  on  its  arms,  her  face,  like 
a  prayer,  upturned  to  Randolph.  She  did  not 
speak  for  a  minute  or  two,  but  her  spirit  was 


184  A  MAN'S  REACH 

lashing  the  man's  spirit  in  fierce  waves  until  she 
began :  "  You  and  I,  you  and  I,  moving  in  a  mys- 
terious will-sphere,  my  will  in  your  will,  grappling, 
tussling  with  the  whiskey  idea — trying  to  cast 
it  out.  The  Master  helped  Peter  and  John 
to  cast  out  devils:  He  is  my  Master  as  well  as 
theirs,  will  He  not  help  me,  too?  He  is,  I  know. 
He  is  going  to  help  me  to  subdue,  to  vanquish  a 
terrible  suggestion."  These  words  passed  the 
girl's  lips  with  the  solemn  beat  of  a  muffled  drum. 
Her  spirit  had  really  entered  Randolph's  senses, 
in  spite  of  himself.  His  eyes  were  now  large 
and  luminous  with  a  wild  astonishment,  he  was 
fastened  to  the  subtle  movement  of  this  absorbing 
play. 

There  was  a  pause,  a  lull  of  feeling,  the  astonish- 
ment of  the  man  died  into  slow  resignation :  he  and 
Lettice  breathed  together  like  French  clocks  tick- 
ing softly;  he  very  still  in  the  chair;  she  even 
stiller  on  her  knees. 

When  Lettice  finally  arose  and  went  across  the 
hearth  (no  longer  a  blaze,  but  a  red  blur  of  coals) 
she  had  lived  a  life  of  intense  concentration.  She 
lifted  the  lid  of  the  wood-box  and  threw  on  an- 
other lightwood  chunk,  then  sank  in  the  other  big 
chair.  Her  head  thrown  back,  and  gazing  at 
Randolph  through  low-lidded  eyes,  she  began  to 
croon  like  a  distant  flute : 


A  MAN'S  REACH  185 

Swing  low,  sweet  c-h-a-r-i-o-t, 
A  comin'  fer  to  carry  me  h-o-m-e, 

Swing  low,  sweet  c-h-a-r-i-o-t, 
A  comin'  fer  to  carry  me  home. 

She  sang  the  old  melody  several  times,  patting 
time  with  her  foot:  her  eyes  never  leaving  Ran- 
dolph until  his  fine,  fair  head  was  easy  on  the 
back  of  his  chair,  and  his  eyes  as  gentle  and  willing 
as  the  eyes  of  a  child. 

The  door  opened :  "  Mose  bade-time,  Miss 
Lettice  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Uncle  Amos,"  and  Lettice  went  out. 

"  Still  knitting?  "  she  asked  the  older  ladies  in 
the  drawing-room,  and  saw  through  the  open  door 
Amos  following  Randolph  up  the  broad  stair. 


XVI 

LETTICE  felt  as  if  she  held  Randolph  by  a 
chain  and  that  if  she  allowed  her  thoughts  to  leave 
him  for  a  second  he  would  break  loose.  She  was 
so  enveloped,  entangled  in  her  mystical  experi- 
ment, that  all  life  was  but  a  thought-wire  between 
herself  and  her  subject.  She  was  afraid  tc  go  to 
bed  lest  sleep,  like  a  sharp  knife,  break  this 
thought-wire,  so  she  sat  in  a  chair  by  her  window 
all  the  livelong  night. 

No  breath  of  wind  swayed  the  trees :  their  green 
to-night  was  palest  silver,  and  the  little,  lapping 
waves  of  the  quiet  Rappahannock  might  have  been 
the  soft  lips  of  babies  at  their  mother's  breast. 
Nature  was  soothing,  but  the  girl  did  not  want  to 
be  soothed,  rather  she  wished  to  be  tightened  by 
a  keener  vision,  coerced  by  a  flaming  confidence. 
Her  will  must  be  as  stern  and  hard  as  the  black- 
smith's defiant  anvil:  and  her  brain  must  send 
forth  the  anvil's  red,  glowing  sparks. 

Towards  dawn  the  muted  birds,  the  cradled 
flowers  began  to  stir;  and  she,  like  a  prophet  after 
the  mountain's  fast,  girded  herself  for  the  battle. 
She  went  down  early,  but  she  was  afraid  to  give 
the  old  plantation  even  an  edge  of  her  energy: 
instead  she  sought  the  chair  in  which  Randolph 

186 


A  MAN'S  REACH  187 

had  sat  the  night  before,  and  hugged  her  purpose 
lest  the  sensuous  languor  of  the  April  day  drive  it 
away. 

Charlotte  and  Randolph  came  down  rather  late ; 
Cousin  Mary  would  not  come  down  at  all  on 
account  of  her  cold. 

"  Isn't  April  stupefying? "  Randolph  was 
sleepily  stirring  his  coffee.  "  I  could  hardly  get 
my  eyes  open  at  all  this  morning." 

"  You  couldn't  ?  "  Lettice  drew  his  glance  well 
into  hers.  "  A  little  while  ago  you  couldn't  get 
them  to  shut — remember?"  Her  smile  was  as 
insinuating  as  the  April  warmth. 

Randolph  looked  at  her  inquisitively  without 
speaking ;  he  was  pensive,  not  moody,  very  gentle, 
but  not  a  bit  querulous. 

"  I  think  we  must  be  going  home  soon."  Char- 
lotte, since  she  came  in,  had  looked  as  if  some- 
thing were  on  her  mind. 

"  Oh,  no !  "  Lettice  was  not  surprised,  but  like 
one  who  awaited  a  certainty,  she  winced  at  the 
final  word.  "Why?" 

"  First  and  foremost,  because  we  must  not  wear 
our  welcome  out.  But  for  your  unselfishness  we 
might  have  done  it  long  ago :  now  the  time  has 
really  come— on  that  account  and  others." 

"  Well,  I  can't  chain  you,"  Lettice  playing 
with  her  breakfast  spoke  with  genuine  feeling, 
"but  I  would  if  I  could." 


188  A  MAN'S  REACH 

"  You  have  done  us  both  a  lot  of  good,  dear 
Lettice.  We  can  never  tell  you  how  much." 

"  A  lot  of  good  ?  "  Randolph  looked  at  Lettice 
as  if  upon  her  answer  hung  life — hope. 

Lettice  pressed  her  lips  firmly  together  and 
nodded  her  head  up  and  down  as  if  to  say:  "Of 
course,  all  the  good  in  the  world."  Randolph  went 
on  with  his  breakfast  as  if  perfectly  satisfied. 

"  We  are  going  to  have  a  complete  change  of 
diversion  to-day  and  we  are  not  going  to  do  one 
bit  of  work."  The  words  of  Lettice  fell  like  a 
new  movement  in  a  familiar  sonata.  "  We  are 
going  a-fishing !  " 

"Fishing?"  Randolph,  in  a  measure,  had 
waked  up.  "  Why  haven't  we  been  before?  " 

"  Because  the  fish  have  not  been  biting.  Uncle 
Amos  says  there  are  shoals  of  them  off  Cedar- 
Bush  now,  and  we  are  going  there  just  as  fast  as 
our  arms  can  carry  us.  You  can  row,  can't  you, 
Randolph?" 

"  I  used  to;  I  don't  know." 

"If  you  can't,  I  can,"  Lettice  announced  as  she 
arose  from  the  table. 

They  all  had  been  out  on  the  river  day  after 
day,  but  always  in  Mr.  Corbin's  fine  canoe  manned 
by  Mr.  Corbin's  careful  boatmen.  Then  there  was 
a-plenty  of  wind;  there  was  none  to-day  and  be- 
sides Lettice  wanted  neither  boatmen  nor  any 
other  lady  besides  herself. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  189 

Adown  the  rose  walk  with  fishing  tackle,  lunch, 
a  rug  and  a  volume  of  Tennyson — fit  weapons  to 
fight  the  hours  of  a  bright  spring  day. 

Lettice's  small  row-boat  was  bobbing  to  its 
anchor  at  the  foot  of  the  lawn.  Its  oars  ready 
under  the  gnarled  paper-mulberry  that  stood  near 
the  shore.  Randolph  pulled  in  the  boat  with  one 
of  the  oars,  Lettice  jumped  in  and  he  followed. 

At  first  he  rowed,  rather  laboriously:  then 
Lettice  took  a  hand,  or  better,  two  hands. 

She  used  the  slender  paddles  as  easily  as  a 
Chinaman  his  chop  sticks.  In  and  out,  grace- 
fully, rhythmically  as  swallows  skim ;  catching  the 
sun  on  their  thin  blades  and  ducking  it  quickly 
in  the  sparkling  water. 

"  I  learned  when  I  was  a  child,  you  didn't." 
The  eyes  of  Lettice  twinkled.  "  There  are  four 
things  that  must  be  learned  early  to  be  well  done : 
swimming,  dancing,  skating  and  rowing." 

They  went  very  slowly  up  the  river  and  then 
around  a  bend  to  Cedar-Bush.  The  sun  sweet- 
ened them,  the  easy  motion  was  full  of  a  strange 
comfort.  They  did  not  talk;  Lettice  was  afraid 
of  antagonistic  ideas — she  must  reinforce  the 
pivotal  idea  every  moment. 

The  fish  did  not  bite,  but  they  sat  with  lines 
extended,  waiting,  patient.  To  Lettice  the  fish 
were  inconsequent,  and  usually  she  was  a  good 
sport :  today  the  fish  were  merely  a  common  and 


190  A  MAN'S  BEACH 

lazy  interest  for  Randolph  and  herself.  As  they 
sat  on  the  side  of  the  boat  very  close  together, 
Lettice  was  pouring  her  idea  into  his  lulled  senses : 
and  he,  unconsciously,  was  giving  his  weary  will 
to  hers. 

The  hours  passed  like  a  passive  flock  wending 
their  calm  way  to  a  peaceful  fold.  Randolph 
showed  no  impatience;  Lettice  was  satisfied  be- 
cause earth  seemed  to  hold  its  breath  in  respect  for 
her  sacred  ritual. 

They  had  lunch  on  the  bank  strewed  with  early 
buttercups,  and  Randolph  lay  on  a  pile  of  "  sea- 
ore  "  *  while  Lettice  read,  droning  like  a  bumble- 
bee: 

And  some  had  visions  out  of  golden  youth, 

And  some  beheld  the  faces  of  old  ghosts 

Look  in  upon  the  battle ;  and  in  the  mist 

Was  many  a  noble  deed,  many  a  base, 

And  chance  and  craft  and  strength  in  single  fights, 

And  ever  and  anon  with  host  to  ho 

Shocks,  and  the  splintering  spear,  the  hard  mail  hewn, 

Shield-breakings,  and  the  clash  of  brands,  the  crash 

Of  battle-axes  on  shattered  helms,  and  shrieks 

After  the  Christ 

"After  the  Christ!"  Randolph  interrupted 
dreamily.  Lettice  did  not  answer,  but  read  on: 

Pray  for  my  soul.    More  things  are  wrought  by  prayer 
Than  this  world  dreams  of.    Wherefore  let  thy  voice  rise, 
Rise  like  a  fountain  for  me  night  and  day. 
For  what  are  men  better  than  sheep  or  goats 

*  A  sort  of  grass  washed  up  by  the  waves. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  191 

That  nourish  a  blind  life  within  the  brain, 
If  knowing  God,  they  lift  not  hands  of  prayer 
Both  for  themselves  and  those  who  call  them  friend? 
For  so  the  whole  round  earth  is  every  way 
Bound  by  gold  chains  about  the  feet  of  God. 

She  closed  the  book :  it  was  enough. 

Randolph  still  on  the  "  seaore "  with  closed 
eyes  murmured,  "  I  hear  and  I  don't  hear.  I 
am  resting  in  you,  Lettice ;  I  don't  want  to  think. 
Oh,  Lettice,  keep  on  trying  to  save  me !  " 

They  rowed  slowly  back  to  Laneville :  the  east 
wind  was  against  them  and  they  took  turns,  gliding 
leisurely  over  the  sunset  sea. 

When  the  boat  grated,  at  last,  near  the  old 
mulberry,  Randolph  drew  a  long  breath :  "  I  am 
tired ;  I  haven't  the  energy  to  walk  to  the  house," 
he  said. 

"  That  is  just  how  I  want  you  to  be,"  Lettice 
answered  cheerily  as  she  led  the  way. 

Soon  after  tea  Charlotte  went  up  to  Cousin 
Mary  ,  who  was  sneezing  and  blowing  in  her  bed. 
Lettice  and  Randolph,  as  on  the  night  before,  re- 
tired to  the  library.  The  hour  had  come :  it  was 
supreme.  Lettice  had  a  little  stage- fright:  she 
felt  her  solitary  experiment  intensely.  Old  Henry 
Corbin,  above  the  mantelpiece,  gave  her  courage; 
and  her  zeal,  which  hitherto  had  spluttered  and 
sizzled,  had  become  steady  and  blinding  as  the 
head-light  of  a  great  engine. 


192  A  MAN'S  REACH 

Randolph  was  disposed  to  talk  of  himself,  sadly 
— his  empty  hands,  his  dark  and  useless  future. 
And  he  referred  to  his  mother's  chastened,  cheer- 
less existence.  "  She  would  be  much  better  off  if 
poor  old  daddy  and  I  had  gone  off  together;  you, 
too,"  looking  into  the  girl's  eyes  guiltily. 

"  Nonsense !  "  She  patted  the  seat  of  the  sofa 
on  which  she  sat  as  a  sign  for  him  to  come  and 
sit  beside  her.  "  Sheer  nonsense !  I  cannot  say 
that  you  have  always  been  a  very  good  boy;  but 
all  that  is  passed — gone  forever.  You  have  been 
a  little  bad " 

"  A  1-i-t-t-l-e  b-a-d,"  very  wearily. 

"  But  henceforward  and  forever  you  are  going 
to  be  a  heap  good,"  with  startling  confidence. 
"  You  are  going  to  will,  work,  believe,  be  glad." 
The  wonder  of  human  influence  possessed  the  girl. 
"  I  am  going  to  take  out  the  offending  principle. 
I — I,  Lettice  Corbin,  the  girl  whom  you  once 
loved " 

"  Once  ?  "  he  sighed  as  if  in  real  pain. 

"  Shh-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh !  '  And  these  signs  shall 
follow  them ;  they  shall  cast  out  devils.'  Now,  as 
then,  Randolph  to  those  who  believe  and  act." 

"  Oh,  Lettice,  don't,  don't  deceive " 

"  Shh-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh !  "  she  whispered  again,  as 
she  put  her  arm  around  his  shoulder  with  the  ten- 
derness of  a  mother.  "  Don't  think,  look  at  me 
and  rest !  "  She  touched  his  eyelids,  now  flutter- 


A  MAN'S  REACH  193 

ing,  with  her  gentle  fingers,  then  she  smoothed 
his  lined  forehead  as  she  would  have  smoothed 
James  Parke's  and  Henry's. 

His  whole  being  was  relaxing,  sinking  unwill- 
ingly into  unresistance.  A  large  part  of  himself 
was  actually  asleep;  a  tiny  bit  of  him  was  awake, 
and  that  part  of  him  swung  in  the  girl's  voice 
waves.  His  consciousness  had  been  vanquished  by 
a  woman's  consecrated  determination.  He  was 
mental  dough  to  be  kneaded  into  mental  steel. 
The  low  words  of  Lettice  reached  layer  after  layer 
of  his  soul,  striking  through  the  mazes  of  his 
sensibility  to  the  cell  of  the  sinister  suggestion. 

Lettice,  holding  Randolph's  waning  interest 
close  to  herself,  removed  the  Suggestion  with 
reassuring  words,  red-hot  from  a  furnace,  heated 
seven  times  by  the  fire  of  love. 

"  Son-Boy,  you  don't  like  whiskey,  you  don't 
like  whiskey,  you  don't  like  whiskey!  Son-Boy, 
you  hate  whiskey,  you  hate  whiskey,  you  hate 
whiskey !  Whiskey  kills,  whiskey  makes  Chattie's 
love  pain,  whiskey  makes  the  love  of  Lettice  pain, 
whiskey  kills,  destroys ;  you  hate  it  as  Chattie  and 
I  hate  it,  Randolph,  Son-Boy.  Do  you  hear, 
Randolph  ?  Do  you  realize  that  you  hate  whiskey 
as  I  hate  it?" 

As  on  the  night  before,  she  had  fallen  on  her 
knees  before  her  bewildered  patient ;  she  held  his 
hands  now;  it  was  all  right,  for  the  glad  eye  of 

19 


194  A  MAN'S  REACH 

Henry  Corbin  protected  her;  the  thoughts  of  all 
the  sages,  phalanxes  of  encouragement  in  their 
strong  bookcases,  protected  her;  the  traditions  of 
Laneville  to  minister  to  all  that  were  in  need  pro- 
tected and  justified  her. 

"  You  hate  whiskey,  Son-Boy,  hate  it,  hate  it, 
hate  it!  Whiskey  is  hell.  It  kills.  Say  what  I 
say  in  your  soul,  your  innermost  soul !  Whiskey 
kills.  You  hate  it."  Her  words  were  pickaxes 
cleaving  a  stubborn  root ;  they  exhausted  her,  took 
more  than  human  strength  to  sway  them  up  and 
down,  up  and  down,  like  a  woodman. 

As  she  had  subdued  Randolph,  so  she  released 
him,  but  the  sparks  from  the  furnace  fires  of 
Love's  sacrifice  were  blazing  in  his  soul.  When  he 
was  wide-awake  she  stood  up,  lifted  her  hands 
high  above  her  head,  and  exclaimed :  "  Randolph, 
something  wonderful  has  happened.  You  are  a 
man  again,  a  conqueror !  " 

Randolph  stood  up,  too.  His  eyes  were  strained 
as  if  he  had  seen  a  vision. 

Lettice,  blown  as  if  by  a  mighty  wind,  fell  wear- 
ily into  the  big  chair.  Randolph  looked  at  her 
wondering. 

A  terrible  sensation  of  danger  overpowered  the 
girl.  "  Don't  look  at  me,  Randolph,"  she  said, 
trembling.  "  Look  the  other  way !  "  She  was 
pitifully  unstrung,  all  her  nerves  tingling. 

She  felt  as  if  she,  herself,  held  the  evil  sug- 


A  MAN'S  REACH  195 

gestion  as  one  holds  a  rabid  beast,  and  that  if  she 
let  it  go,  it  would  dig  its  awful  fangs  into  Ran- 
dolph again.  Could  she  hold  it?  Could  she  keep 
it  from  him?  She  arose  from  the  chair  and  al- 
most tottered  into  the  hall,  clenching  the  beast  in 
the  teeth  of  her  will.  Her  mental  attitude  was 
painfully  magnified  and  supersensitive. 

"Mrs.  Turberville!  Oh,  Mrs.  Turberville ! " 
Her  voice  sounded  weird,  strange.  It  had  returned 
to  the  fine  shrillness  of  her  younger  days.  "  Mrs. 
Turberville,  come  to  Randolph,  he  wants  you ! " 

She  heard  Mrs.  Turberville's  quick  footsteps 
coming  down,  then  she  drew  the  bolt  of  the  front 
door  and  almost  fell  into  the  night.  Such  a 
night!  The  breath  of  flowers  spicy  sweet,  the 
river  one  "  wan  wave,"  and  the  crescent  moon 
hand  in  hand  with  the  evening  star.  Abundant 
mercy  everywhere ! 

Still  clutching  the  poisonous  beast,  the  evil  sug- 
gestion, in  her  feverish  will,  she  raised  her  eyes 
to  heaven  and  handed  it  to  God. 


XVII 

THE  carriage,  Alec  on  the  boot,  stood  at  the 
Laneville  door  an  hour  after  breakfast  on  the 
following  day  while  Amos,  Mammy,  Roily  and 
several  other  negroes  came  out  with  bags,  shawls, 
flowers  and  lunch — some  useless,  some  necessary 
impedimenta. 

Charlotte  stood  in  the  hall  telling  the  servants 
good-bye  as  they  passed  along,  and  delighting 
their  simple  hearts  with  coin :  Mary  Nicolson  was 
writing  a  letter  to  send  by  the  Turbervilles  to 
Bolingbroke — there  are  some  of  us  who  take  an 
economical  pride  in  sending  a  letter  without  a 
stamp,  and  of  such  is  not  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 

Lettice,  bewitching  in  riding  habit  and  stiff  hat, 
was  on  the  porch  earnestly  gazing  into  Randolph's 
eyes  and  beating  her  words  with  her  crop :  "  I 
am  just  like  a  nagging  mother  when  her  little  boy 
is  going  to  have  a  day  off;  I  am  bristling  with 
do's  and  don'ts.  You  think  me  silly  and " 

"  No,  I  don't/'  very  earnestly. 

"  I  am  glad,  you  encourage  me  to  say  that — 

that "  She  hesitated,  her  eyes  on  the  old 

porch  floor  now ;  she  raised  her  head  defiantly,  in  a 
moment,  gazed  back  into  inquisitive  blue  eyes  and 

196 


A  MAN'S  REACH  197 

went  on:  "  That  my  will,  like  a  stiff  brush,  has 
swept  the  suggestion  out  of  your  mind — or  heart, 
or — or — wherever  it  was,  just  as  sure  as  you  stand 
there :  and  my  will  put  the  '  Good  Disposition  '  in. 
Now  your  part,  old  fellow,"  she  smiled,  "  is  to 
keep  the '  Good  Disposition  '  at  home.  The  minute 
you  allow  it  to  run  around  there'll  be  the  mischief 
to  pay.  Remember  the  seven  devils?  They  are 
roaming  about  still.  Good  Disposition  is  a  gad- 
a-bout  and  must  be  restrained.  The  seven  devils 
are  not  so  brave  as  you  might  think :  a  stern  '  I 
won't — I  won't '  will  be  to  them  like  '  scat '  to  a 
cat.  This  is  no  hocus-pocus,  it  is — is " 

"  Randolph,"  Charlotte's  crepe  cameoed  her 
face  on  the  side-post  of  the  front  door,  "  come  on, 
it  is  time !  " 

The  old  carriage  swung  around  the  circle, 
through  the  gate,  and  down  the  level  lane :  Lettice 
on  Kitty  Fisher  swerving  along  in  front.  Kitty 
Fisher  was  frisky  to-day :  she  neither  kept  in  the 
road  nor  on  her  feet;  now  and  then  she  would 
rear  and  lift  her  head  as  if  to  steal  more  gladness 
from  the  sky. 

"  Good-bye !  "  The  little  gate-opener,  on  the 
lowest  rung  of  the  last  gate,  had  swung  it  to  with 
a  bang ;  the  carriage  was  outside,  Lettice  and  Kitty 
Fisher  within.  Kitty's  little  feet  tapping  the  sand 
were  like  interrogation  points;  and  each  second, 
like  a  cat-o'-nine-tails,  whipped  the  visible  Lettice 


198  A  MAN'S  REACH 

Corbin  and  Randolph  Turberville  further  and 
further  apart. 

Randolph,  locked  with  his  mother  in  the  ample, 
gray-padded  carriage,  was  silent.  He  was  dazed 
like  one  merging  from  etherization :  in  the  blur  of 
awakening  a  vivid  girl  shone  like  a  star  in  a  mid- 
night sky.  In  a  fraction  of  time  a  sequence  of 
mental  flashlights  threw  the  whole  of  Lettice 
Corbin  in  his  mental  view — as  plain  as  a  flight 
of  red  birds  against  the  solemn  pines.  He  saw 
her  little  and  sweet,  racing  through  the  Park  with 
rings  of  red  running  over  her  head.  He  saw  her 
bigger  and  wiser — the  red  rings  grown  to  auburn 
ringlets.  He  felt  her  spirit  leaping  beyond  pru- 
dence and  wrapping  him  in  its  rich,  red  folds. 
He  almost  saw  this  spirit  snapping  and  sputtering 
and  then  burning  down  to  a  steady  glow  which 
blinded  him.  Away  and  away  in  the  future  was 
another  Lettice,  his  wife,  with  velvet,  baby  hands 
upon  her  mother-face.  "  Oh,  God,"  to  himself. 
"Oh,  God!" 

He  was  afraid ;  he  reached  for  his  mother's  lap, 
found  her  hand  and  clasped  it. 

Chattie  responded  tenderly,  and  as  if  carrying 
on  his  very  thoughts,  began :  "  These  weeks  have 
made  her  very  plain,  before  she  was  a  darling 
puzzle.  Son-Boy,  do  you  remember  the  first 
Christmas  they  were  in  the  Murray  house  ?  " 

"  Do  I  remember  ?  " 


A  MAN'S  REACH  199 

"  She  was  so  enchanting  that  night,  wayward, 
saucy,  irresistible." 

"  She  is  a  good  sport,  as  sure  as  you're  born. 
Her  asking  us  down  shows  that.  Doesn't  it. 
mother?" 

"  You  mean  she  ran  the  risk  of  her  parents  not 
liking  it  ?  I  never  thought  of  that  before  we  came, 
but  constantly  since." 

"  She  didn't  care.  She  firmly  believes  her  mis- 
sion is  to  cure  me ;  and  even  parents  don't  cut  much 
of  a  figure  with  her  where  I  am  concerned.  This 
seems  conceited,  but  it  is  true.  She  believes  in 
mental  medicine,  mother,  and  she  has  administered 
it  to  me."  A  long  pause.  Charlotte  did  not  know 
exactly  what  to  say :  after  a  while  Randolph  kept 
on :  "  The  night  she  called  you,  she  had  inserted 
her  will  into  mine." 

"  You  really  believe  she  had  ?  " 

"  I  believe  in — in — Lettice  Corbin." 

"  And  so  do  I,"  emphatically. 

"  You  know,  mother,  there  is  a  science  of 
psychotherapy  " — as  if  in  argument,  then,  wearily 
— "  I  don't  know.  The  thing  that  touches  me 
beyond  expression  is  her  effort.  She  has  gone 
every  length  to  help  me.  She  studied,  planned, 
acted  according  to  a  queer,  exalted  faith  absolutely 
contrary  to  the  wishes  of  her  parents.  This  fact, 
tremendous,  almost  unbelievable,  demands  co- 


£00  A  MAN'S  REACH 

operation;  but  I  am  so — so — undependable — so 
inadequate." 

"  But,  Son-Boy,  you  are  going  to  do " 

"  What?  "  he  broke  in,  almost  fiercely.  "  Any- 
thing?" 

Charlotte's  trump-card  was  consolation  rather 
than  argument.  "  Lettice  is  wonderful."  She 
knew  Randolph  wanted  to  hear  that.  "  She  told 
me  once,  I  remember,  that  when  she  loved  it  would 
be  like  Francesca  looked  at  Paolo  in  our  picture." 

"  She  did  ? "  A  long,  long  silence — field, 
meadow,  wood  all  in  languorous  stillness !  Then : 
"  Of  the  efficacy  of  will  against  will  I  cannot  tell 
yet :  but  when  a  girl  like  Lettice  Corbin  puts  aside 
every  thought  of  herself  to  save  a  man,  her  very 
consecration  and  confidence  have  their  effect. 

"  I  shall  never,  no  matter  what  I  do,  be  able  to 
forget  two  evenings  in  the  Laneville  library. 
Mother,  Lettice  Corbin  is  a  crusader,  a  reformer. 
a  follower  of  " — and  the  sacred  name  fell  from 
the  young  man's  lips  with  shy  reverence — "  the 
Christ." 

It  is  very  hard  for  a  mother  and  son  who  have 
never  spoken  plainly  to  begin  to  do  so,  and  Ran- 
dolph's strange  confidence  somewhat  disarmed 
Charlotte.  She  began  to  speak  away  from  the 
subject :  "  Mary  Nicolson " 

Randolph  kept  to  his  line :  "  I  feel  as  if  it  were 
impossible  for  me  ever  to  fight:  somebody's  got 


A  MAN'S  REACH  £01 

to  fight  for  me :  I  am  all  jelly,  not  a  bit  of  whale- 
bone from  bottom  to  top.  Maybe  it's  leaving 
Laneville,  but  this  very  moment,  I  am  as  if  a 
candle-extinguisher  were  over  my  head :  I'm  about 
to  smother." 

"  We  don't  like  to  leave :  I'm  all  let  down,  too." 

"  You  are,  Mumsy?  That's  a  comfort.  If  you 
feel  so,  it  is  all  right."  Randolph  took  his  mother's 
hand  again.  "  I've  got  to  try,  haven't  I  ?  My 
task  is  harder  than  you  or  Lettice  could  ever  imag- 
ine. I  have  thrown  away  all  friendship  that 
could  help  me ;  I  never  see  Threshly,  or  Dame,  or 
Morris.  Two  or  three  times  I  borrowed  money 
from  them."  Chattie  winced  at  this.  "  Thanks 
to  you,  I've  paid  them  back,  but  they  are  still 
afraid  of  me,"  and  with  touching  sadness,  "  We 
were  so  intimate  as  boys." 

"  Be  yourself,  darling,  and  your  old  friends 
will  return." 

"Myself,  mother?  Which  is  myself?  Lettice 
thinks  she  has  revived  myself;  has  she?  Or  is 
that  distorted  creature  that  has  staggered  along 
the  streets  of  Bolingbroke,  me?  Is  there  in  me  a 
thing  that  can  force  me  on  ?  I  want  to  so  badly, 
but  have  I  the  strength?  " 

Chattie  could  not  speak ;  really  she  had  not  the 
aggressive  optimism  of  Lettice  of  Laneville. 

On  they  rolled  over  sweet,  woodsy  roads  a  mile 
or  two  in  silence:  then  Randolph  again  thought 


202  A  MAN'S  REACH 

aloud :  "  She  is  obsessed  with  curing  me,  and  she 
believes  in  the  potency  of  the  spirit.  I  reckon  she 
is  right.  She  has  a  message  like  Joan  of  Arc  and 
Madame  Curie.  She  is  no  everyday  girl — I  am 
in  good  hands.  If  I  can  only  bring  her  energy 
with  me.  She  is  praying  for  me  this  minute, 
mother,  no  matter  what  is  doing.  She  bent  over 
me,  mother,"  he  was  whispering  now,  "  and 
touched  my  brow  and  my  cheeks :  sense  was  out  of 
it;  I  was  passionless  yet  adoring;  and  she,  a 
marble  goddess  lit  with  the  lamp  of  God." 

"  No,  no,  Son-Boy,  a  woman  with  emo- 
tions  " 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  had  killed  them  all  except  the 
one  for  service!  I  have  no  plan :  I'm  just  me,  a 
man  with  my  release !  A  queer  condition  without 
a  parallel." 

"  This  is  the  beginning,  Son-Boy,  convalescence. 
You  will  soon  be  robust  in  every  way ;  and  Lettice 
and  you  will  be  young  lovers  again.  You  will  find 
yourself,  and  your  old  friends  will  find  you.  I 
wish  you  had  ever  fancied  Bill-Bob  Catlett;  if  he 
comes  to  our  church  he  can  help  you." 

"  Bill-Bob  is  great,  but  he  and  I  were  on  opposite 
sides,  you  see.  What  a  pair  he  and  Lettice  would 
make!" 

"  Was  he  ever  in  love  with  her?  " 

"  Some  thought  so."  Randolph  did  not  care  to 
continue  this  subject. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  203 

"  By  the  way,  Son-Boy,  I  had  a  letter  from 
Kitty  Nestles  yesterday.  She  is  back  in  Boling- 
broke  and  wretched.  Would  it  do  for  me  to  ask 
her  to  pay  me  a  little  visit?  " 

"  No.  I  don't  believe,  mother,  that  even  you 
are  good  enough  to  have  Mrs.  Nestles  stay  with 
you.  I  wouldn't  like  to  trust  myself  with  her  a 
single  day.  She  is  a  siren — the  judge  on  his  bench ; 
the  preacher  in  his  pulpit ;  the  doctor  in  his  office — 
had  all  better  beware  of  Kitty.  I  am  sorry  she  is 
in  Bolingbroke.  Keep  her  from  starvation  if  you 
can,  but  don't  trust  her  with  your  men- folk — she 
has  awfully  winning  ways." 

"  Poor  creature."  Charlotte's  voice  was  softly 
reminiscent. 

The  fat,  bay  mares  took  their  time,  the  off  one 
teasing  the  "  near  "  with  a  playful  bite  on  the 
neck,  which  Alec  reproved  with  a  touch  of  his 
long,  black  whip.  Alec  wished  to  be  polite,  and 
when  his  honored  passengers  were  silent,  he  would 
turn  his  kindly  face  to  the  window  at  his  back  and 
explain  the  fields  and  things :  "  Mr.  Corr's  wheat 
sorter  backward,"  "  Mr.  Newcomb's  oats — a  little 
thin  in  spots,"  "  Marse  Doctor  Nelson's  office — he 
gone  up  yonder  and  nobody  like  him  dese  days." 

Randolph  was  interested,  but  Chattie  had 
yielded  to  the  magic  of  the  spring  and  gazed  with 
sleepy  eyes  at  the  peaceful  panorama.  The  horses 


204  A  MAN'S  REACH 

slowed  up  and  took  long  breaths  for  a  steep  hill, 
and  Randolph  was  minded  to  get  out  and  walk 
the  ascent:  afterward  he  sat  on  the  boot  with 
Alec,  smoked  a  cigarette,  and  listened,  with  pleas- 
ure, to  the  vivid  speech  of  the  old  negro. 

"  Dey  done  ruint  Marse  Warner  place,"  point- 
ing to  a  winged  mansion  gay  with  awning  and 
paint.  "  Dey  even  wants  to  move  he  and  Mis' 
Betsy  out'n  de  own  gyarden.  Our  folks  allers 
buries  in  de  gyardens:  dey  never  keered  fer 
church-yards — dey's  too  conspic'us." 

"  What  Warner  lived  there  last,  Uncle  Alec?  " 

"  Marse  Alexander  Warner,  suh." 

"  Your  name  is  Alexander,  too?  " 

"  Naw,  suh — not  mine.  I  ain't  got  no  Zander 
in  mine.  I'se  Alec  Singleton,  jes  so."  They  were 
now  passing  a  cabin  with  a  yard  full  of  excited 
negroes.  "  Trubble  dar !  De  corpse  cum  in  dis 
mawnin'  fum  Baltimo'.  Our  gals  goes  off  keerless, 
and  cums  back  foot-fo'mus'.  Lisson!  Thai's 
Lindy  de  corpse  daughter  a  hollerin'.  She  ain't 
useter  de  lossin'  ob  mothers  as  I  is  to  de  lossin' 
ob  wives.  I'se  had  three,  and  whin  my  Jinnie 
died  las'  fall  a  year,  I  done  found  out  dat  hollerin' 
ain't  no  use;  but  Lindy  is  young  yet,  she  dunno." 

Like  a  baby's  prattle  did  Alec's  simple  talk 
soothe  and  amuse. 

It  was  three  hours  before  they  reached  Lester- 


A  MAN'S  REACH  805 

Manor,  and  just  three  minutes  before  the  South- 
ern train  pulled  in.  The  last  glances  of  Mrs. 
Turberville  and  her  son  fell  on  Alec,  his  tall  hat 
in  hand  and  his  hair  as  close  and  white  as  sheeps' 
wool,  he  was  the  last  cry  of  plantation  "  raising." 
His  words  echoed  in  their  ears  well  on  their  way : 
"  Sarvent,  Miss  Charlotte !  Sarvent  Marse  Ran- 
duff,  I  sho'  does  regret  yo'  department ! " 


PART  III 
XVIII 

IT  was  after  sunset  when  our  weary  travellers 
reached  their  little  gray  house  on  the  edge  of  the 
Park :  new-painted,  it  was  looking  like  a  nesting 
dove  with  a  snow-white  breast ;  while  the  red  sky 
flamed  through  the  Cathedral  arches  with  royal 
cordiality  and  the  children  in  the  Park  twittered 
like  a  cage  of  birds. 

Within,  a  restful  vision  of  chintz  and  flowers 
greeted  them  kindly;  but  the  small  space  against 
the  breadth  of  Laneville  stifled  Randolph.  Tem- 
perament flings  high  and  low,  now  it  pinned  Ran- 
dolph to  the  dust — all  exhilaration  had  died  and 
his  spiritual  twilight  was  deeper  than  spring  could 
ever  make. 

The  unruffled  neatness  of  his  own  room  was  as 
windless  water  to  eager  sails:  the  things  on  his 
bureau,  the  regular  chairs  irritated  him  with  unre- 
sistance :  he  wanted  to  be  buffeted,  bruised,  licked 
into  shape. 

Even  the  spirit  of  his  mother's  dining-room  was 
contrary ;  too  nice,  too  smooth  for  his  mood.  In- 
stead of  hot  muffins  and  chicken,  iced  tea  and 
salad,  he  wanted  big  loaves  to  part  with  a  sword, 
and  joints  in  which  a  man  might  stick  a  spear. 

206 


A  MAN'S  REACH  207 

The  table  talk  of  the  bewildered  mother  and  son 
was  forced :  both  felt  an  unspoken  apprehension : 
it  was  the  terrible  pause  just  after  the  knife,  when 
one  trembles  and  wonders  if  the  malignant  horror 
will  return. 

In  the  library  after  supper  the  books  were  not 
even  consoling.  Randolph  discovered  sufficient 
energy  to  pull  Montaigne  from  a  shelf,  and  he 
turned  to  his  favorite  essay — the  twenty-fifth  of 
the  first  book ;  but  he  couldn't  read  it,  so  he  put  the 
old  philosopher  back  and  took  Shelley  out.  No, 
not  even  Shelley.  He  felt  harnessed  like  a  shying 
horse:  or,  like  a  small  boy  all  trigged  up  in  stiff 
collar  and  patent-leather  shoes,  he  couldn't  move 
lest  his  elegance  crease  or  wrinkle.  He  lighted  a 
cigarette,  puffed  a  few  times,  then  threw  it  in  the 
fireplace.  What  must  he  do  ?  He  was  so  fidgety, 
so  nervous !  He  wanted  the  street  and  a  half  dozen 
places  he  knew  well.  He  wanted  a  strong  glass, 
a  game,  a  good  story,  the  "  boys." 

Charlotte  had  on  her  hands  a  peevish  child  who 
must  be  amused.  What  must  she  do  first  ?  There 
was  an  unopened  letter  on  her  desk ;  she  unsealed 
it  and  took  from  it  a  photograph  which  she  held 
for  some  moments  in  her  hand,  in  pathetic  con- 
templation. Then  she  went  to  Randolph — sitting 
loosely  and  glum  in  a  chair  across  the  room. 

"  Tom  Randolph  sent  me  this  and  a  touching 
note,"  holding  the  photograph  to  her  son.  "  I  am 


208  A  MAN'S  REACH 

so  glad  to  have  it.  It  was  taken  when  Tom  and 
Ran  were  at  the  University;  it  is  more  like  you, 
Son-Boy,  than  Ran." 

Randolph  took  the  carte-de-visite  and  held  it 
under  the  nankeen  shade  of  the  droplight.  The 
face  was  singularly  handsome,  the  eyes  large  and 
bright,  the  forehead  pure  and  broad — but  the 
weakness  of  the  mouth !  Within  his  memory  his 
father  had  always  worn  a  moustache,  and  this 
was  the  first  time  Randolph  had  seen  his  mouth 
uncovered.  It  hurt  him,  it  announced  plainly  that 
his  father  had  from  his  youth  up  suffered  with — 
an  incurable  disease. 

Randolph  raised  his  eyes  to  the  mantel  mirror. 
His  own  mouth  was  different,  he  thought :  it  looked 
to  him  like  a  piece  of  metal  horribly  dented,  while 
his  father's  mouth  was  a  piece  of  dough. 

He  was  suddenly  conscious  of  his  mother's  gaze 
— were  their  thoughts  identical  ? 

"  A  beautiful  face,"  he  said  reverently  as  he 
gave  back  the  picture. 

"  Beautiful."  His  mother  got  up  as  if  she  were 
in  pain,  and  went  to  the  side  wall  where  hung 
Randolph's  baby  self;  blue  eyes,  bright  curls,  dim- 
ples, innocence,  gladness !  Her  wistf  ulness  melted 
Randolph's  soul.  He  went  to  her  and  took  her 
in  his  arms :  "  Mumsey,  blessed  little  Mumsey,  be- 
lieve that  I  love  you !  But  mother,  you  don't  know, 
there  are  times  when  a  man's  will  is  nothing  but 


A  MAN'S  REACH  900 

feathers :  you,  women,  don't  know,  Mumsey — you 
never  can.  And  if  a  man's  will  is  only  feathers — 
can  it  ever  turn  to  steel?  " 

In  a  moment  Chattie  Turberville  was  Lettice 
Corbin :  "  He  turned  water  into  wine — it  is  just 
as  easy  for  Him  to  turn  feathers  into  steel !  " 

Randolph  was  glad  when  alone  in  his  own  room. 
He  paced  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  and  wished 
that  his  room  was  a  mountain  that  he  might  climb 
and  climb — and  at  last  fall  exhausted  at  the  top. 

"  You  want  to  spar  and  play  and  drink,"  some- 
thing sinister  said  within  him. 

"  I  don't  want  to  spar,  and  play,  and  drink.  Be- 
fore heaven,  I  don't !  "  he  answered  boldly,  as  he 
flung  himself  into  a  chair,  clasped  his  hands  above 
his  head,  and  tried  to  draw  his  whole  consciousness 
to  Lettice  at  Laneville.  He  tried  to  grasp  her 
body  and  soul  and  put  her  in  a  chair  beside  him. 

Presently  the  clouds  parted  and  he  saw  a  face 
all  entreaty — all  angel:  Lettice  was  in  the  room 
sustaining  him.  "  Swept  and  garnished,  Ran- 
dolph, ready  for  the  seven  devils,  don't  let  them  in ! 
Try  as  hard  as  you  can,  Son-Boy !  " 

He  was  trying,  but  he  was  weak ;  he  ached,  he 
wanted  tonic  or  something.  And  he  could  get  it 
so  easily ;  it  was  only  to  steal  out  as  he  had  so  often 
done  before,  go  south  two  blocks,  give  the  counter- 
sign (a  Bob- white  whistle)  and  Billy  West  would 
open  his  door.  All  the  jolly  crowd  was  there  to- 

14 


210  A  MAN'S  REACH 

night  and  it  missed  him,  he  knew;  he  had  not 
been  to  Billy's  private  saloon  for  over  two  months. 
There  they  were  now — the  merry,  care- free  lot! 
Dick  Tribbett,  the  "  apron-string-boy-untied," 
clever,  scintillating,  never  weary  of  his  liberty; 
Lawrence  Stone,  the  cleverest  man  in  town,  per- 
haps, clean  as  a  whip  except  for  whiskey;  old 
Steve  Harrison,  apostle  of  "  Poquet,"  as  he  called 
the  roystering  game  he  played  so  well;  all  there 
but  he!  They  needed  him,  and  his  merry  songs 
to  fill  up  the  shuffling  time : 

The  raccoon  got  a  bushy  tail, 

'Possum  tail  am  b'ar, 
Rabbit  got  no  tail  at  all, 

But  a  little  bit  a  bunch  o'  h'ar. 
Git  along  'Liza,  po'  gal:  git  along  'Liza  Jane. 

Yes,  the  boys  needed  Randolph  and  he  needed 
them — he  had  to  go.  But — the  old  library  at 
Laneville,  and  the  "  victory "  eyes  of  the  first 
Henry  Corbin  clutched  Randolph,  held  him  as  in 
a  vise — crying,  "  For  shame !  For  shame !  " 

"  I  am  so  thirsty,  I  must  moisten  my  lips." 

"  With  water,  then." 

"  Bah,  water  is  too  thin."  Randolph  shook  off 
the  master  stare  of  the  first  Henry's  eyes  as  if  it 
were  a  pestering  gnat,  and  before  he  knew  it  he 
was  in  his  mother's  dining-room.  He  struck  a 
match  and  held  it  close  to  the  sideboard — where 
was  the  ancestral  decanter  ?  Gone. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  211 

No  longer  the  first  Henry's  eyes,  but  the  soft, 
strong  hand  of  Lettice,  his  ever  so  many  times 
great-grand-child !  The  touch  of  this  soft  hand 
was  invincible ;  it  gently  led  Randolph  back  to  his 
room  and  a  siren  voice  bade  "  Good  Disposition  " 
stand  guard  all  night. 

Thirst  demanded  a  glass,  pleasure  beckoned 
with  a  handful  of  cards,  but  Randolph  was  able  to 
say,  "Thirst!  Suffer!  Thirst!  Suffer!  What 
matter?  I'll  not  breathe  if  breath  be  yielding. 
Thirst?  Desire?  What  matter?  Lettice  of  Lane- 
ville  is  behind  me — she  is  helping  me  to-night." 
Randolph  strung  these  words  on  a  red-hot  wire, 
and  twirled  and  twirled  them  until  they  made  a 
ring  of  fire  in  his  soul's  vision :  round  and  round 
he  twirled  them,  fast  and  faster;  then  slower, 
slower,  till  out  of  this  red  wing  of  words  a  sooth- 
ing, smiling  Lettice  came. 

Randolph's  senses  ceased  to  twirl  and  jerk;  he 
was  once  more  calm,  even  thought  stopped  beating 
for  him  to  hear — "  He  that  was  dead  can  rise 
again." 

Some  dead  had  risen;  oh,  yes;  but  how  could 
he — so  absolutely  mentally  and  financially  dead  ? 

For  several  years  he  had  not  appeared  in  the 
courts ;  and  granted  that  his  dissipations  were  put 
in  perpetual  limbo,  how  long  would  it  take  the 
"  light "  to  so  shine  before  men  that  they  would 


212  A  MAN'S  REACH 

realize  his  sincerity  and  encourage  him  with  their 
confidence?  Could  he  wait  for  it?  He  was  not 
sure  of  himself. 

And  what  about  Lettice,  and  her  active,  un- 
paralleled devotion? 

Randolph  Turberville  was,  by  no  means,  with- 
out superstition.  He  got  it  from  his  own  family 
as  well  as  from  the  negroes.  He  would  never  tell 
a  bad  "  Friday-night  "  dream  before  breakfast  on 
Saturday  morning;  he  avoided  the  thirteenth  of 
everything ;  and  he  did  not  like  to  turn  back  when 
once  started,  without  making  a  ring  and  spitting 
in  it.  The  best  teacher  he  ever  had,  Dr.  Decolb, 
a  martyr  to  superstition,  never  permitted  a  pin 
to  lie  in  his  path  without  picking  it  up — and  that 
was  where  the  school-boys  got  their  inning.  They 
would  scatter  a  paper  ful  on  the  brick  walk,  be- 
tween his  house  and  the  school-room,  and  crack 
their  sides  laughing  at  his  efforts  to  pick  them  up. 
Clever  people  were  influenced  by  the  occult,  the 
mysterious,  so  it  was  not  altogether  impossible 
for  Randolph  to  believe  that  the  wonderful  spirit 
of  Lettice  Corbin  could  enter  the  shattered  metrop- 
olis of  his  life,  the  toppling  city  of  his  soul, 
and  with  an  almost  supernatural  power  pick  up 
the  evil  spirit  and  cast  it  into  the  sea  that  it  might 
perish  in  the  water.  This,  strangely,  was  not  too 
much  for  Randolph's  superstition.  Besides  her 
act  was  so  ineffably  devoted  and  vital  that  he  felt 


A  MAN'S  REACH  21S 

constrained  to  try  to  believe,  even  if  he  had  to 
cry — "  Lord — help  Thou  mine  unbelief !  " 

Those  tense  hours  in  the  Laneville  library  were 
not  only  dramatic  but  coercive ;  and  the  ripples  of 
the  pebble,  which  Lettice  cast  in  the  dark  pool  of 
his  soul,  were  even  now  beating  against  his  will. 
But  he  did  not  have  the  faith  to  perch  carelessly 
upon  her  mental  telepathy  like  a  red  bird  upon  a 
green  limb — he  must  scratch,  and  peck,  and  grub 
for  his  spirit's  food. 

Day  after  day — the  almost  invincible  tempta- 
tion; day  after  day — the  almost  supernatural  re- 
sistance ! 

As  true  as  God  she  had  led  him  into  the  open, 
but  his  own  eyes  must  see  the  vision,  too;  his  own 
feet  must  climb  the  mountain,  his  own  will  must 
fight  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  hers.  It  must 
subjugate  the  tatterdemalions  of  the  flesh;  the 
gnats  and  hornets  of  the  spirit;  and  the  magazine, 
from  which  he  must  draw  the  munitions  for  this 
terrible  warfare,  was  deep-down  in  the  mysterious 
organism  of  his  own  personal  self. 

Did  he  possess  the  strength?  Did  he  have 
enough  aboriginal  marrow  to  stand  the  siege? 
He  had  repulsed  the  enemy  up  to  this  moment :  but 
each  hour  the  enemy  seemed  to  gain. 

An  uprush  of  confidence  heartened  him  for  a 
moment,  then  a  minatory  retrospect  would  dash 
him  to  the  earth.  He  saw  the  things  undone  that 


214  A  MAN'S  REACH 

he  should  have  done ;  the  things  done  that  should 
have  been  left  undone.  Horrible!  Horrible! 
Every  little  deviating  act  was  distinct  in  the  high 
light  of  a  girl's  purity. 

A  young  man  of  twenty-eight  who  has  practi- 
cally wasted  his  life  is,  in  any  case,  in  a  deplorable 
condition,  but  especially  so  if  he  has  wilfully 
destroyed  every  intention  of  his  earlier  years. 
A  young  man  who  has  worked  and  caroused  an- 
tiphonally  is  much  better  off,  for  when  he  finds  his 
sane  self — he  can  simply  leave  off  the  debauch  and 
continue  his  work :  but  Randolph,  keenly  conscious 
that  he  had  thrown  all  of  his  business  fat  in  the 
fire,  also  keenly  realized  that  the  task  of  recon- 
struction was  colossal. 

One  of  his  most  distressing  symptoms  was  sleep- 
lessness :  he  awoke  before  dawn,  tossed  this  way 
and  that  until  sunrise,  then  dressed  and  went 
down.  Before  his  world  was  astir  he  would  stand 
on  his  mother's  front  porch — the  clean  breast  of 
the  gray  dove — thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and 
think  and  think  What  can  I  do  ? 

A  divided  self?  Terrible!  Evil  against  good 
and  a  one-sided  game.  The  first  half  played — the 
devil  the  winner!  The  second  half  on:  still  a 
divided  self — good  against  evil — which  was  to  be 
the  winner? 

Night,  the  hour  when  tom-cats  prowl  was  his 
worst  time.  Then  the  teeming  world  was  far, 


A  MAN'S  REACH ,  215 

far  away,  and  he  and  his  mother  stranded  in  the 
little  gray  house.  One  moment  he  was  over- 
powered by  a  dizzying  passion,  the  next  everything 
was  fiddle-faddle,  and  nothing  for  the  prodigal 
to  do  but  to  return  to  his  husks. 

Evening  after  evening  this  experience  was  re- 
peated, until  upon  a  certain  night — when  the  awful 
silences  of  a  lonely  soul  were  swept  with  a  haunt- 
ing melody  from  Laneville — the  telephone  rang. 
Billy  West  was  at  the  other  end :  "  Did  you  know 
that  Tom  Boyd  had  the  gout  ?  "  he  asked. 

Randolph  had  not  heard,  he  was  sorry;  what 
was  the  cause? 

"  Don't  know,  unless  it  is  because  I  fleeced  him 
at  *  poquet '  the  other  night,"  Billy  replied.  "  Any- 
way, he  is  flat  of  his  back,  foot  as  red  as  blood, 
and  as  big  as  a  bushel.  Come  on  around  and  see 
the  poor  fellow !  " 

It  was  eleven-thirty  of  a  Saturday  night;  but 
Randolph  went. 


XIX 

THE  crowd  was  boisterous  in  Tom's  sitting- 
room  on  the  second  floor  of  his  handsome  house, 
built  by  the  sweat  and  prudence  of  a  self-made, 
pious  father.  It  greeted  Randolph  as  if  a  con- 
stant intercourse  had  never  been  broken  by  death 
and  absence. 

"Hello,  Ran!" 

"  We're  waiting  for  you." 

"  Tom  thinks  he  wants  you ;  and  when  he  can't 
get  what  he  wants,  he  blubbers;  and  we  don't 
want  any  blubbering  to-night."  Three  good- 
fellows  all  spoke  at  once. 

"  Blubber — the  devil !  Better  say  Ran  needs 
us/'  Tom  Boyd,  sprawled  on  a  wide  couch  under 
an  oriental  cover,  like  a  huge  beast  under  a  palan- 
quin, held  out  to  Randolph  his  right  hand,  slightly 
palsied  by  excess.  "  You're  white,  boy."  Tom 
did  not  have  the  tact  of  his  companions ;  Tom  was 
rather  new.  "  You  look  as  if  you  had  not  *  tasted  ' 
for  ages.  You  need  us,  you  need  it !  Remember 
what  old  George  the  Third  said  to  one  of  his 
favorites  ?  '  They  tell  me,  Sir  John,  that  you  love 
a  glass  of  wine.'  '  Those  who  have  so  informed 
your  Majesty,'  Sir  John  replied,  '  have  done  me 
great  injustice:  they  should  have  said  a  bottle.' 

216 


A  MAN'S  REACH  817 

You  need  bottles,  Randolph,  jugfuls,  demijohns — 
and  here  they  are : '  Scotch,'  '  Rye/  '  Rum,'  '  Gin,' 
— every  old  darn  thing :  and  the  whole '  gang '  but 
Jim  Johnson.  What's  more,  Ran,  I've  got  a  body- 
servant,  the  real  thing — brought  up  in  Middlesex 
County;  just  from  Middlesex  County  yourself, 
ain't  you  ?  "  with  a  wink. 

Randolph  was  grave :  "  Where  is  Jimmy 
Johnson?  "  he  asked. 

"  My  body-servant's  name  is  Lazarus ;  sounds 
good,  don't  it?  Lazarus  of  Middlesex."  Tom 
winked  again.  "  Knows  how  to  rub,  and  talk,  and 
lets  me  cuss  him  when  I  choose.  Middlesex  is  a 
good  place  to  come  from,  ain't  it,  Ran  ?" 

"  Where  is  Jimmy  Johnson?  "  Ran  asked  again. 

"  Speeding  with  Fanny  Lark  in  old  Lark's  car, 
while  poor  old  Lark  is  away  making  more  money. 
Jimmy  will  tango  to-night,  and  trot  and  maybe 
commit " 

"  Oh,  Tom,"  from  several  units  of  the  "  crowd." 

"  Maybe  not;  but  none  of  you  can  deny  that 
Jimmy  would  have  been  safer  with  us.  Help 
yourself,  Ran !  "  Tom  did  not  relish  Turberville's 
unusual  aloofness. 

"  Billy  has  got  above  himself  in  your  absence." 
Dick  Tribbett  was  taking  some  pretty  bottles  out 
of  the  sideboard,  and  putting  them  on  top.  "  He 
calls  himself  the  king  of  '  poquet.'  We'll  uncrown 
him  to-night,  with  your  assistance,  Ran." 


218  A  MAN'S  REACH 

"  Fill  up,  boys !  "  Tom  Boyd  was  impatient  for 
the  fun  to  begin.  "  Do  the  honors,  Billy !  Damn 
this  foot,  it  has  kept  me  on  the  '  wagon '  for  a 
month.  I  haven't  got  that  much  time  to  spare." 

The  memorial  red-hot  stove  and  the  child  pok- 
ing its  finger  closer  and  closer.  Randolph  must 
know  once  more  how  it  felt. 

Tom's  rooms  were  very  luxurious:  rugs,  pic- 
tures good  and  coarse,  easy  chairs,  mahogany  fur- 
niture, and  the  evidence  of  a  good  cellar  standing 
seductively  on  the  Chippendale  side-table.  His 
card-table  was  also  claw- foot  Chippendale;  he 
never  used  a  deck  but  once :  his  decanters  were  of 
the  strawberry  pattern,  his  glasses,  too. 

"  You  know,"  Tom  was  fond  of  gossip, 
"Jimmy  Johnson  is  divided  in  his  affection  be- 
•tween  Fanny  Lark  and  that  big  blonde  Nestles 
woman — he  shares  the  latter  with  that  little  milk- 
sop Saint  George  Catlett,  brother  to  the  preacher, 
— Lord,  ain't  this  a  funny  world  ?  Fill  up,  boys, 
fill  up ;  don't  feel  badly  because  you  can  and  I  can't ! 
Fill  up !  "  Tom's  voice  was  whiny. 

Randolph  filled  up.  It  was  Scotch,  and  the  burn 
of  it  was  good :  in  a  minute  he  was  another  Ran- 
doph  Turberville.  He  told  with  fine  effect  a  true 
story  of  an  old  oysterman  with  a  large  toothless 
mouth  who  had  a  bad  habit  of  sleeping  with  it 
open :  "  He  not  only,  boys,  had  a  large  open 
mouth,  but  also  sleek  inquisitive  mice  r  and  in  the 


A  MAN'S  REACH  219 

dead  of  night  when  Mr.  Foxwell  was  peacefully 
pursuing  his  nocturnal  privilege  of  snoring,  who 
should  hear  and  become  interested  but  Mr.  Mouse. 
He  proceeded  to  investigate,  coming  nearer  and 
nearer  the  round,  warm  orifice  whence  proceeded 
the  martial,  horn-like  sound.  To  Mr.  Mouse  it 
had  the  quality  of  a  patriotic  air.  He  stepped  in 
time  to  it,  nearer — nearer — nearer.  Mercy,  what 
a  warm,  luxurious  hole !  And  Mr.  Mouse  walked 
in.  Then  the  fire-works!  The  snore  that  went 
into  Mr.  Foxwell's  nose  could  not  get  out  of  his 
mouth — this  discomfited  Mr.  Foxwell  into  '  chh- 
chh-chh ! !  ssh-ssh-ssh ! ! '  spluttering  and  fighting 
and  kicking.  Mr.  Mouse  was  never  so  surprised 
in  his  short  existence — he  scratched  for  life  like 
a  cat  on  a  carpet,  tried  his  very  best  to  pass  the 
Scylla  and  Charybdis  of  Mr.  Foxwell's  tonsils, 
absolutely  failed,  couldn't  turn  around  and  contin- 
ued to  scratch.  Mr.  Foxwell  tried  to  pull  him  out 
by  the  tail,  but  the  tail  came  off:  Mr.  Foxwell 
actually  had  to  get  up  and  go  to  the  house  of  old 
Alec,  the  Laneville  driver,  who  told  me  the  tale  and 
ended  with  these  words :  '  Marse  Randuff,  whin 
Misto  Foxwell  got  to  my  house  in  de  dade  er  night, 
I  didn't  do  nuttin'  in  de  wurll,  but  job  my  two  fo'- 
fingers  cl'ar  in  he  mouf  an'  prize  dat  varmint  out'n 
it.  Ef  mices  gwi'  try  to  make  nesses  in  folks' 
thoats,  what  gwinter  come  o'  inny  er  us  ? '  I  saw 
Mr.  Foxwell,  boys,  and  the  tale  is  true." 


220  A  MAN'S  REACH 

"Just  what  I  wanted."  The  whine  was  gone 
from  Boyd's  voice.  "  I'll  be  all  right  to-morrow. 
I  haven't  laughed  so  much  since  Ran's  last  story : 
tell  another,  please,  Ran.  Fill  up  again  and  it  will 
come.  I'll  promise  to  laugh  again,  no  matter  what 
you  say." 

Randolph  filled  up  again,  and  the  story  came. 
It  was  not  so  clean  as  the  first,  indeed  it  was  rather 
lurid.  Applause  was  instantaneous  and  violent. 
But  over  the  merriment  fell  a  purple  mist,  a  mys- 
tic reproof  for  Ran.  He  shouldn't  have  mentioned 
Laneville  now  and  here.  Laneville  and  Tom 
Boyd's  room  were  as  different  as  Heaven  and  Hell : 
but  they  kept  on  laughing. 

"  Like  old  times.  We've  all  missed  you,  Tur- 
berville.  Fill  up  again,  we  are  about  a  dozen 
ahead  of  you  still,. and  you  will  talk  better  as  you 
get  more  in."  Billy  West  pushed  the  decanter  of 
the  strawberry  cut  towards  Randolph,  who  held  a 
glass  of  the  same  pattern  in  his  hand. 

"  When  you  all  get  warmed  up  " — Tom  Boyd 
was  leaning  over  the  side  of  his  couch,  like  a  beast 
poking  his  head  out  of  its  cage — "  I  want  you 
fellows  to  beat  Billy  at  his  own  '  poquet.'  He  had 
a  cinch  without  *  Tubby '  to  hold  him  down." 

The  sound  of  the  nick-name  of  his  carousals 
was  now  distasteful  to  Randolph,  his  joviality 
had  received  a  chill.  He  had  not  touched  the  de- 


A  MAN'S  REACH  221 

canter,  but  the  glass  was  still  in  his  hand.    Things 
were  slowing  down  somewhat. 

Lawrence  Stone  began  to  hum:  "If  you  got  a 
gray  cat,  shave  her,  shave  her!  If  you  got  a  gray 
cat,  shave  her  to  the  bone !  " 

Dick  Tribbett  told  an  incident  of  the  week  con- 
cerning Jimmy  Johnson :  "  Went  home  drunk  as 
a  b'iled  owl  night  before  last,  ripped  out  his  pocket- 
knife  and  slashed  his  great-grandfather's  portrait 
across  the  face ;  then  went  up  to  his  mother's  door 
and  yelled :  '  Been  kicking  up  hell  with  my  ances- 
tors ! '  True,  old  Mrs.  Johnson  told  my  sister  all 
about  it.  The  portrait  was  a  St.  Memin,  valuable 
and  all  that." 

Between  the  story  and  the  song  all  drank  freely, 
except  Randolph  and  Tom. 

"  Going  to  wait  all  night?  "  Allan  Darrow  asked 
as  he  began  to  shuffle  the  brand-new  cards  on  the 
Chippendale  table. 

"Hurry  up,"  said  Boyd  impatiently.  "Why 
don't  you  fill  up  again,  Ran  ?  " 

"  Have  I  had  two  or  three?  "  Randolph's  up- 
lifted eyes  were  dreamy,  distrait.  "  Epictetus 
says,  you  remember,  that  he  is  a  drunkard  that 
takes  more  than  three  glasses." 

"  To  the  devil  with  old  '  Pic ' !  "  Boyd  moved 
suddenly  and  screamed  with  pain.  "  Play  the 
game!  What's  the  use  of  so  much  nonsense? 


222  A  MAN'S  REACH 

Limber  up  with  a  jugful !  Tubby,  sit  down  and 
begin.  Go  on !  " 

There  sometimes  comes  a  moment  in  the  middle 
of  the  day,  in  the  high  tide  of  traffic,  when  there 
is  a  pause ;  everything  for  a  second  standstill :  one 
fairly  hears  the  silence  before  the  city  roars  again. 
It  was  so  now.  The  pause  of  the  talk,  in  the  midst 
of  the  wine  and  the  game,  was  audible.  Ran's 
will  was  suspended,  for  upon  his  next  move  hung 
the  fate  of  the  man's  life-game.  A  vision  of  conse- 
quences was  as  plain  as  the  log  fire  leaping  in  the 
decanter,  and  the  glasses. 

"  Tom  or  Lettice?  Lettice  or  Tom — which?  " 
The  questions  crossed  like  steel  blades  in  Ran- 
dolph's brain.  "HI  touch  another  glass  I'll  touch 
a  thousand ;  I'll  never  stop  through  all  the  years. 
Do  I  want  to  reel  into  the  ferry-boat  when  I  cross 
the  river  Styx?  Shall  I  pollute  the  influence  of 
those  hallowed  weeks  in  one  mad  evening?  " 

"  Hurry  up,  Tubby !  Did  that  old  place  down 
yonder  make  you  so  d — d  slow  ?  "  Tom  was  at 
the  limit  of  his  endurance.  "  Toss  off  and  begin! 
You  look  as  if  you  had  the  jimjams,  Tubby." 

"  Move  the  decanter,  please,  Ran,  and  let  me 
deal !  "  Darrow  held  the  new  "  deck." 

The  glass  was  still  in  Turberville's  hand;  his 
will  was  to  raise  the  decanter,  fill  it  and  quench 
his  thirst,  moisten  his  lips ;  again  his  will  was  to 


A  MAN'S  REACH  223 

keep  the  glass  dry ;  his  will  moved  too  quickly  for 
his  muscles  to  answer. 

"Oh,  move  the  bottle,  Billy."  Darrow  mo- 
tioned to  West  with  the  cards.  "  Let's  have  a 
clean  board." 

Not  Billy,  but  Ran,  took  the  bottle  of  the  straw- 
berry cut  by  its  short,  thick  neck,  with  his  right 
hand.  The  glass  was  still  in  his  left.  He  squeezed 
the  bottle  hard,  as  if  it  had  been  a  chicken  that  he 
wished  to  choke:  then  he  raised  it  with  his  right 
hand — high  above  his  head,  and  whanged  its  podgy 
crystal,  with  all  his  might,  against  the  mottled 
"  finish  "  of  the  Chippendale  table.  The  decanter 
came  in  two,  the  "  Scotch  "  ran  over  the  polished 
mahogany  and  turned  it  white.  With  his  left  hand 
Ran  threw  the  glass  into  the  red  lap  of  the  hickory 
fire — then  laughed. 

"  I'll  be  damned!  "  said  Boyd. 

"  Crazy  ?  "  asked  Darrow. 

"  My  strawberry  cut !  "  Tom  Boyd  was  furious. 
"  What  in  the  devil  is  the  matter  with  you,  Ran?  " 

Ran's  answer  was  uncannily  slow.  "  N-o-o-o, 
I  am  not  crazy,  I'm  getting  sane.  I'll  return  your 
glass,  Tom,  and  some  day  I'll  explain  my  action. 
Maybe  I  was  rather — rather — oh,  well,  I'll  tell 
you  all  about  it  when  I  can."  He  put  his  hand 
to  his  forehead  as  if  it  ached.  The  "  crowd  "  sat 
in  mute  astonishment :  Darrow  whiffled  the  cards 
once  or  twice  aimlessly,  then  got  up  and  put  them 


224  A  MAN'S  REACH 

on  the  mantelpiece.  It  was  as  if  a  wind-swept  lake 
had  suddenly  stilled. 

To  Boyd's  entreaty  Darrow  picked  up  the  cards 
again:  while  Randolph  wiped  the  table  with  his 
pocket-handkerchief — wiped  it  hard  till  the  white 
disappeared  and  the  sheen  of  the  mahogany 
gleamed  again.  They  played  without  snap  and 
Randolph  did  not  win. 

"  Drink  don't  seem  to  count  to-night."  Tom 
fairly  groaned  with  disappointment.  "  Let's  have 
something  to  eat !  " 

He  rang  for  Lazarus,  who  soon  appeared  with 
waiter  after  waiter  of  rich  food. 

"  I  counted  on  Jimmy  for  his  salad  dressing  " — 
Tom's  whine  had  returned — "  but  as  he  is  also 
renegade,  I'll  have  to  make  it  myself.  You  forgot 
the  oil,  Lazarus." 

Lazarus,  briskly,  proceeded  to  fetch  the  oil — but 
in  a  second  his  head  was  in  the  door :  "  Does  you 
want  de  keerosene  or  de  castor  ile,  Marse  Torm  ?  " 

"  Even  the  nigger's  mind  is  wandering — which 
of  them  do  they  use  at  Laneville,  Ran  ?  Lazarus 
does  things  as  they  do  them  in  Middlesex,  you 
know."  Boyd  reached  to  the  table,  took  a  devilled 
crab  from  a  silver  dish  and  hurled  it  at  Lazarus. 
"  D — n  you,"  he  yelled,  "  I'll  pour  a  gallon  of 
kerosene  over  you,  and  a  pint  of  castor  oil  in  you 
and  set  you  afire,  if  you  don't  mind." 

The  five  young  men,  struggling  to  find  a  lost 


A  MAN'S  REACH  225 

chord,  were  readers  and  thinkers  as  well  as 
drinkers  and  cardplayers,  and  when  at  last  they 
put  the  cards  aside  they  talked  for  hours,  all 
drinking  a  great  deal  except  Ran  and  Tom. 

Randolph,  at  dawn,  made  the  move  to  go. 

"  Don't  bother  about  the  '  glass,'  Tom,"  was  his 
farewell.  "  Mother  has  a  lot  just  like  it :  it  shall 
be  returned ;  and  remember,  I've  got  a  story  to  tell 
you  some  of  these  days." 

"  It's  you  more  than  the  '  glass  '  that  bothers 
me."  Tom's  eyes  were  staring  with  cynical  in- 
quisitiveness  into  the  eyes  of  Randolph  Turber- 
ville.  "  Been  at  the  Corbins.  Old  flame  burning 
still?" 

"  Don't  speak  of  that,  Tom,"  Randolph  almost 
whispered. 

"  Stay  all  night  with  me,  Tubby,  and  I'll  for- 
give you  everything,  and  not  ask  you  another  ques- 
tion." Tom  Boyd  adored  this  uncertain  young 
gentleman — Randolph  Turberville. 

"  No,  thank  you,  Tom !  It's  time  I  was  going. 
Good-bye!" 

"  High  time."  Darrow  gave  Ran  a  contempt- 
uous scrutiny.  "  I  detect  a  psalm-singing  note 
in  your  once  manly  voice ;  going  to  join  the  church, 
Ran?" 

"  Not  yet."  Ran  smiled  as  alone  he  left  the 
room. 


15 


XX 

DAY,  timid  and  indefinite  had  broken  when 
Randolph  Turberville  left  Tom  Boyd's  house:  he 
walked  down  to  Belvedere  Street,  crossed  over, 
and  stopped  by  the  house  in  the  triangular  yard. 
There  he  stood  and  clutched  the  iron  railing:  it 
was  Sunday  morning  and  not  one  soul  was  on  the 
street ;  even  the  little  box  across  Belvedere  Street, 
where  the  one-legged  man  sat  all  day  to  guard 
the  crossing,  was  close  shut.  He  had  never  seen 
it  shut  before,  and  Belvedere  Street  was  lonesome 
without  the  one-legged  man.  With  the  young  day 
upon  it,  the  red  house  in  which  he  and  Lettice 
had  so  often,  at  random,  talked — breathed  the  first 
sympathy  and  congratulation. 

"  Is  it  all  a  dream,  an  hallucination  ?  Is  there 
a  Lettice,  in  truth?  Is  there  any  absolute  reality 
beyond  appearances?  Does  anything  make  any 
difference  ?  Oh,  God !  "  Randolph's  clutch  of  the 
iron  rail  was  harder,  more  desperate.  He  prayed, 
not  petitionally,  but  something  within  him  held  on 
to  God  as  his  hand  held  the  iron  railing.  Grad- 
ually, very  gradually,  his  spirit  rose,  as  a  man  is 
lifted  up  by  putting  his  hands  on  a  high,  strong 
beam,  and  raised  by  inches  until  his  head, 
shoulders,  thigh,  leg  and  foot  are  all  on  the  same 


A  MAN'S  REACH  287 

level :  all  of  Randolph  was  there.  His  mind,  for 
a  moment,  took  in  a  more  extensive  and  inclusive 
world;  he  heard  a  full,  deep,  compelling — "  Don't 
give  up.  Don't !  " 

Max  Nordau  calls  mysticism  any  sudden  per- 
ception of  hidden  significance.  It  was  here.  All 
"  otherness "  was  quiet,  and  Randolph  felt  a 
strange,  ready,  tremendous  force  which  might  push 
it  entirely  out  of  the  way.  This  awaiting  force  was 
dynamogenic.  It  had  flared  suddenly  and  broken 
the  glass  of  the  strawberry  cut,  and  like  a  lion 
it  had  delivered  Randolph  from  the  other  beasts 
in  the  jungle.  It  was  polarized  with  an  intangible 
current  which  had  hurled  him  into  the  sky-sphere. 
Its  aliveness  had  reduced  the  Tempter's  power — 
might  it  not  eventually  altogether  destroy  it? 

He  let  go  the  iron  railing  and  walked  slowly 
across  Belvedere  Street  and  into  the  Park.  In 
his  dear  old  gray  playground  he  sank  down  on  an 
iron  bench ;  an  overwhelming  elation  took  hold  of 
him;  his  soul  assumed  an  athletic  attitude — he 
verily  believed  for  a  moment  that  he  could  fight. 
The  dynamogenic  quality  enveloped  him  like  a 
gust:  he  saw  the  sun,  like  a  miracle  on  tip-toe, 
edging  its  blood  above  the  house-tops — and  he 
longed  to  twist  up  by  its  roots  one  of  the  wine- 
glass elms  nearby,  dip  it  like  a  paint  brush  into  the 
sun's  crimson,  and  write  in  giant  letters  upon  the 
hollowed  opal  of  the  sky,  "  I'll  never,  never,  never, 


228  A  MAN'S  REACH 

never  touch  another  drop !  "  He  needed  a  tre- 
mendous prop,  a  transcendental  bond  to  hold  him. 

But  as  he  sat  on  the  iron  bench,  with  his  back 
to  the  Cathedral  and  his  face  to  the  shimmering 
East,  the  gust  stilled;  the  inner  light  faded,  his 
soul  got  gray.  What  if  his  measure  were  already 
taken  ?  What  if  his  growth  could  only  reach  cock- 
tails, high-balls,  whiskey  straight  ?  The  bite  of  the 
Scotch  was  still  on  his  tongue,  and  it  made  his  soul 
blush  as  the  kiss  of  the  libertine  reddens  a  maiden's 
cheek. 

A  strong  hand  fell  kindly  on  Randolph's  shoul- 
der— whose  could  it  be  this  time  of  day  ?  Turning, 
he  saw  a  young  man  in  a  gray  clerical  suit. 

"Bill-Bob!  What  on  earth!"  Randolph  held 
out  his  hand. 

Catlett  grasped  it  cordially :  "  We  have  certainly 
got  it  all  to  ourselves." 

"  What  in  the  world  are  you  doing  up  so  early?  " 

"  I  have  been  watching  a  soul  go,"  very  sadly. 

"  And  I  have  been  feeling  a  soul  come."  Ran- 
dolph was  serious  also.  "  Whose  soul  went?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  presently.  Let  me  get  my  breath 
in  this  sweet,  spring  air.  Remember  our  bare- 
foot races  here  ?  And  our  kid  foot-ball  on  the  lot 
where  the  Lutheran  Church  stands  now?  The 
Hoboes  against  the  Hellamites?  Great." 

"  Now  you  are  the  rector  of  the  Holy  Com- 
forter, and  I— I " 


A  MAN'S  REACH  229 

"  Never  mind,  never  mind,  old  man."  Catlett 
sat  down  on  the  iron  bench,  too,  removed  his  hat, 
and  ran  his  long  fingers  through  his  short,  brown 
hair,  which  reached  a  little  on  the  left  side,  and 
sighed :  "  That  was  a  long  time  ago." 

"  Yes,  a  long  time,  but  you  have  carried  your 
boy-face  right  along,  Bill-Bob."  Randolph  seemed 
to  smile  at  his  thoughts,  then  continued :  "  Remem- 
ber how  we  guyed  you  about  your  long  trousers 
when  ours  were  so  short,  and  your  nick-name 
'farmer'?" 

"  Yes,  indeed.  'Twas  Albemarle  against  Boling- 
broke.  Kitty  Nestles  used  to  burn  up  father's  old 
trousers  to  keep  mother  from  cutting  them  off 
for  me." 

"  Kitty  Nestles."  Randolph's  words  were  not 
exactly  a  question,  but  rather  an  effort  to  remem- 
ber something. 

"  Kitty,  you  know,  is  our  cousin  and  stayed 
with  us  a  great  deal."  Robert  Catlett  looked  grave 
again,  and  picking  up  a  twig  on  the  ground,  he 
snapped  it  quickly  in  two.  Then  he  asked — the 
twinkle  in  his  eye  returning — "  Remember  the  cat- 
money  and  the  candy?  " 

"  That  I  bought  for  Lettice  Corbin  ?  " 

There  was  a  subtle  challenge  in  the  eye  of 
Robert  Catlett  as  it  caught  the  eye  of  Randolph 
Turberville :  and  each  face,  in  an  instant,  was  as 
red  as  blood. 


£80  A  MAN'S  REACH 

Randolph  changed  the  subject:  "  Ready  to  tell 
me  why  you  are  out  so  early  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  watching  a  spirit  go,"  Robert 
mechanically  repeated — the  red  of  his  face  was 
fading. 

"  Whose  ?  "  Turberville  had  lost  the  intimacy 
of  childish  memories,  a  restraint  took  hold  of 
him,  his  whole  self  was  as  if  weak  eyes  were  strain- 
ing through  too-strong  glasses. 

"  Jimmy  Johnson's.  He  used  to  play  with  us." 
Catlett's  tone  was  pitiful  regret. 

"Jimmy  Johnson?  Automobile?"  Ran- 
dolph's horror  fell  on  the  spring  day  like  a  drop 
of  ink  in  a  cup  of  clear  water. 

"  Yes.  And  all  drunk.  Chauffeur,  Jimmy, 
Mrs.  Lark,  another  man  and — and — and — Kitty, 
poor  Kitty —  all.  Of  course  this  is  confidential, 
Ran." 

"Of  course.    When  did  it  happen — where?  " 

Robert  Catlett  slowly,  calmly  told  the  ghastly 
tale.  Just  as  he  finished,  he  sobbed.  Never  in  all 
his  life  had  Randolph  heard  such  a  commentary  as 
that  sob  of  Robert  Catlett's. 

"  Who  was  the  other  young  man?  "  Turberville 
asked  after  a  long,  heavy  pause. 

Catlett  for  a  moment  looked  steadily  on  the 
ground,  then  he  turned  away  slightly,  and  Ran- 
dolph saw  his  lip  tremble.  After  a  while  he 
spoke.  "  Poor  Jimmy.  He  never  had  one  moment 


A  MAN'S  REACH  £31 

of  consciousness.  He  was  simply  jellied — mangled 
— quick.  I  had  to  tell  Mrs.  Johnson ;  she  had  been 
praying  all  his  life  for  her  only  son — with  such 
an  answer.  Poor  woman !  " 

"  God  didn't  pay  much  attention  to  her — did 
He?"  Randolph's  words  were  biting,  bitter. 
"Didn't  hear  her?" 

"  Of  course  He  did."  There  was  magnificent 
confidence  upon  Robert's  face:  he  needed  some- 
body else's  doubt  to  show  his  faith. 

At  a  quarter  after  seven  Robert  looked  at  his 
watch.  "  I've  just  got  time  to  get  to  the  early 
service — walk  down  with  me !  " 

They  started  down  the  street,  and  began  to 
talk  more  freely. 

No  thoroughfare  on  God's  green  earth  is  love- 
lier than  Benjamin  Street  in  Bolingbroke  of  a 
"  dew-tipped,"  "  flower-decked  "  Sunday  morning 
in  May.  The  fourteen  squares  from  Belvedere  to 
Ninth  and  Peace  were  short  to  Randolph  and 
Robert.  Of  course  the  terrible  accident  and  the 
cause  of  it  directed  the  course  of  their  conver- 
sation. Death  and  alcohol,  in  the  abstract, 
absorbed  the  too-short  moments. 

Catlett  was  a  strenuous  advocate  of  "  State- 
wide." Randolph  was  not,  and  he  cited  many 
instances  of  contemptible  deception. 

"  Yes,  I  know.  It  will  not  be  perfect  at  once. 
What  is  ?  But  the  law  will  be  against  the  traffic." 


232  A  MAN'S  REACH 

"  What's  the  use,  if  the  law  is  broken?  " 

"  '  Thou  shalt  do  no  murder.'  People  kill  each 
other,  in  spite  of  the  law,  don't  they,  Randolph? 
But  I  am  very  certain  that  they  would  kill  each 
other  oftener  if  there  were  no  law  against  it." 

Very  calm  and  friendly  was  their  talk  as  they 
walked  down  Benjamin  Street.  Back  again  they 
came  to  death,  sudden  death. 

"  Only  absolute  badness  is  absolute  death." 
They  were  now  by  the  beautiful  Turberville  house, 
and  Robert  pulled  a  leaf  of  ivy  saucily  hanging 
over  the  high,  gray  wall.  "  Maybe  there  is  no 
absolute  badness." 

Randolph  hoped  not,  but  it  looked  mighty  like 
it,  sometimes.  "  Taine  says,  you  remember, 
Robert,  that  vice  and  virtue  are  products  like 
vitriol  and  sugar." 

"  Yes,  and  the  sugar,  virtue,  increases  as  the 
vitriol,  sin,  decreases.  All  there  is  to  it,  Ran,  is 
that  we  must  be  as  good  as  we  know  how  to  be, 
and  if  we  are — we'll  get  better  and  better  all  the 
time.  We've  got  to  fight  and  fight  hard.  Remem- 
ber what  the  spirit  said  to  Luther  ?  '  Martin,  thou 
shalt  not  be  utterly  without  sin,  for  thou  hast 
flesh.  Thou  shalt  therefore  always  feel  the  battle 
thereof/  " 

They  stood  on  Ninth  Street  with  the  freshness 
of  the  Capitol  Square  full  in  their  nostrils :  Wash- 
ington's uplifted  hand  suggested  courage  and  hope. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  283 

"  Yet  the  broken  law  can  be  the  elementary  edu- 
cation of  the  soul,"  were  Catlett's  words  as  he 
went  toward  the  church.  But  he  turned  back  and 
added,  "Won't  you  come  in?"  Then  with  a 
reassuring  smile,  as  Randolph  shook  his  head, 
"  Anyway  we  must  see  a  lot  of  each  other.  I  went 
to  your  house  several  times  while  you  were  out 
of  town."  Did  he  know  where  Randolph  had 
been  ?  "  And  I  want  you  to  realize  that  there's 
a  game  that  beats  foot-ball  all  to  pieces." 

Randolph  walked  up  the  street  slowly,  through 
the  Park,  across  "  Laurel  " — home.  His  mother, 
her  face  drawn,  haggard,  met  him  at  the  door. 

"  Where  ?   Again  ?  "  was  her  greeting. 

"  Never  again,  maybe !  "  Randolph  kissed  her. 
"  I  have  just  walked  down  to  the  Holy  Comforter 
with  Robert  Catlett." 

"  Sure  enough  ?  " 

"  Sure  enough." 

The  next  morning  Randolph  received  a  letter 
from  Lettice  Corbin. 

LANEVILLE,  URBANNA, 
Middlesex  County,  Virginia. 

This  is  the  first  time  I  have  been  able  to  harness  my 
thoughts  to  a  pen.  It  is  like  squeezing  coveys  of  wild  birds 
into  a  tiny  dove-cote. 

A  letter  is  generally  extremely  intimate  or  very  formal. 
Yours  was  formal,  mine  is  going  to  be  the  exception — 
betwixt  and  between.  Yours  was  formal,  because  you 
were  afraid  to  be  otherwise:  I  am  not  a  bit  afraid  of 
"  otherwise  " — but  I  believe  betwixt  and  between  saner. 


834  A  MAN'S  REACH 

It  was  queer  how  I  missed  your  mother  and  you:  it  was 
as  if  two  children  had  strayed  off  alone — it  was  maternal. 
(I  am  getting  intimate.) 

I've  been  very  busy,  and  Cousin  Mary  Nicolson  has  been 
niy  amusement  as  well  as  my  despair.  She  is  improving, 
but  still  considers  herself  my  missionary — and  I  have  been 
a  cannibal  to  her  spirit.  I've  torn  the  flesh  from  her  plati- 
tudes and  crunched  their  bones.  She  is  lots  of  fun,  and 
our  opinions  play  hide-and-seek  every  evening. 

She  disapproves  of  you — can't  you  guess  why?  And 
when  I  have  been  very  mean  to  her,  I  show  my  repentance 
by  letting  her  abuse  you.  When  she  exceeds  the  limit  I 
rein  her  in  pretty  sharply. 

I  am  still  farming  fiercely,  for  I  want  papa's  commenda- 
tion when  he  returns ;  at  the  same  time  I  am  convinced  that 
"a  fo'  de  war"  farmer  has  a  hard  time  these  days.  We 
need  at  least  twenty  hands.  Friday  we  had  fifteen  and  to- 
day we  have  two.  The  Dukes  of  England  are  not  half  so 
independent  as  the  negroes  of  Virginia ;  they  work  or  not — 
just  as  they  please.  The  old  ones  received  such  an  impetus 
from  bondage  that  they  keep  on  because  they  can't  stop, 
but  the  impetus  of  the  young  ones  is  the  flesh  and  the 
devil. 

I've  had  a  class  of  little  "  Island  "  children  every  Sunday 
afternoon  since  you  left.  I  never  used  to  love  children, 
but  I  do  now.  Indeed,  I  am  tenderer  than  I  was,  to  all 
living  things.  I  was  so  intolerant,  so  cock-sure  of  myself — 
not  so  now.  I  realize  fully  that  "  only  one  thing  counts — 
only  one  thing — Love.  It  is  the  only  thing  that  tells  in 
the  long  run.  Nothing  else  endures  to  the  end." 

I  am  going  to  bed,  Randolph,  I  am  lonesome.  I  am 
going  to  sing  myself  to  sleep  like  mammy  used  to  sing 
to  me  on  the  garden  steps  and  in  my  nursery : 

Ride  on !    Winter's  er  comin', 
Ride  on !    Winter  soon'll  be  heah. 
Ride  on!     Summer's  a-goin'; 
Ride  on.    Gawd's  w-irl-er-win' !    Sh-ssh-ssh-ssssh-sh-sssss ! 


A  MAN'S  REACH  235 

This  is  an  awfully  stupid,  meandering  letter.  I  did  it  to 
be  doing  something.  It  reminds  me  of  an  old  maid  sitting 
with  crossed  feet  and  folded  hands.  Having  said  prunes 
and  prisms  she  will  say  nothing  else  for  fear  of  ruffling 
her  thin  lips.  But  I  couldn't  do  any  better.  I  wonder 
why? 

Faithfully  yours, 

LETTICE  PARKE  CORBIN. 

P.  S. — I  wish  I  had  a  Geomantic  table  and  a  pen  of 
brass,  that  I  might  know  just  what  you  are  about 

L.  P.  C. 

"  You  wonder  why,  Lattice  ?  I  can  tell  you, 
little  girl.  You  are  in  the  house  of  the  afflicted; 
and  for  fear  of  mentioning  the  corpse  that  lies  in 
silent  dignity  in  an  upper  chamber,  you  are  talk- 
ing at  random.  That's  all.  Now  and  then  you 
come  mighty  near  mentioning  the  corpse,  but  you 
shy  off.  All  the  same,  God  bless  you,  Lettice,  little 
sweetheart !  " 

Randolph  folded  the  letter,  returned  it  to  the 
violet  envelope  with  the  Corbin  crest,  and  put  it 
in  his  pocket. 


XXI 

COUSIN  MARY  NICOLSON,  on  the  river  porch 
at  Lane vi  lie,  was  playing  "  Ram-rod  "  to  the 
"  Supple  jack  "  of  Lettice  Corbin.  On  the  turf  to 
the  right  of  the  rose  walk  a  stiff  ceremonial  was  in 
progress,  for  thirty  children  from  "  Carmines  " 
and  "  Dog-town,"  awkward,  embarrassed,  and  also 
enchanted,  were  assisting  in  a  "  Queen-of-May." 
Almira  Hogg  was  queen,  Billy  Croswell  king. 
Almira,  in  limp  and  apologetic  ecstasy,  stood  on 
a  Persian  rug;  Billy,  lover  as  well  as  yokel — with 
coarse  and  trembling  hands  upheld  the  coronet, 
while  his  voice  staggered  through  a  speech,  which 
Lettice,  radiant  in  pale  blue  and  garlanded  with 
"  Flowering- Almond,"  was,  with  contagious  feel- 
ing, handing  to  him  word  by  word. 

The  children  in  coarse  blues,  yellows  and  reds, 
each  with  his  or  her  little  part,  curved  like  a  circle 
of  zinnias  from  the  leading  lady  and  gentleman; 
while  father,  mother,  aunt  and  uncle  in  wrinkled 
and  astonished  silence  gazed  at  the  unusual  scene. 

Lettice  soon  eased  the  rigidity  of  the  coronation 
with  "  Ring-around-the-rosy,"  "  All  around  the 
mulberry  bush,"  and  "  Chick-a-me-Charmy- 
crow."  She,  the  leader  in  the  simple  games, 
raised  her  sweet  voice  in  elemental  gladness, 

236 


A  MAN'S  REACH  287 

danced  and  pranced  with  the  youngest:  allowed 
each  child  to  clutch  and  rumple  her  pretty  frock, 
and  did  not  flinch  when  old  Mrs.  Croswell,  grand- 
mother of  the  proud  king,  kissed  her,  plumb  on 
her  smiling  lips. 

This  finished  Cousin  Mary  Nicolson,  and  she 
flounced  in  the  house,  and  up  to  her  room. 

Lettice  watched  the  crowd  as  it  gabbled  and 
wobbled  over  the  green  meadow — home.  Then 
she  went  in  and  flung  her  blue  weariness  on  the 
settee  in  the  hall,  her  blue-slippered  feet  well  up 
on  its  sturdy  arms.  She  was  glad,  for  she  almost 
saw  tiny  shoots  of  aspiration  on  the  sandy  hearts 
of  the  Dog-town  people. 

Cousin  Mary  Nicolson's  feet,  in  stern  and  de- 
liberate quickness,  sensed  her  feelings  as  she 
stepped  down  the  stair. 

"  Strenuous  afternoon,  Cousin  Mary,"  came 
crisply  from  the  relaxed  figure  as  the  footsteps 
drew  near. 

"  Should  think  so."  Some  moments  after 
Lettice  had  spoken.  Indeed  Lettice  had  begun  to 
think  her  cousin  was  not  going  to  answer  at  all. 

"  Twas  worth  the  trouble,  though ;  such  '  first- 
hand '  joy  is  so  beautiful.  I  can  hardly  wait  for 
another  May-Day,  or — or — something."  The 
words  of  Lettice  seemed  to  taper  off  into  the 
wonder — what  next  ?  "  They  were  so  happy,  so 
hungry,  so  grateful!  " 


£88  A  MAN'S  REACH 

"  I  hope  the  servants  will  get  all  their  trash  off 
the  lawn  to-night;  I  don't  believe  I  could  sleep 
with  Dog-town  chicken  bones  on  Cousin  Henry's 
lawn." 

"  They  are  not  Dog-town  chicken  bones, 
Cousin  Mary."  Lettice  was  very  good-natured 
and  tried  to  be  consoling. 

"  There  is  a  place  for  everything,  even  for  the 
Dog-town  children  to  be  happy  in,  but  that  place 
is  not  Cousin  Henry  Corbin's  lawn."  Cousin 
Mary  Nicolson  was  cryptic.  "  This  is  another 
caper  of  yours  that  exactly  matches  the  Randolph 
Turberville  caper." 

"  If  it  pays  as  well  as  the  Randolph  Turberville 
caper,  I  shall  be  satisfied."  Lettice  was  not  in  the 
least  ruffled. 

"  And  pray,  how  did  that  remarkable  escapade 

pay?" 

"  Didn't  you  see  a  poor  sick  man  improve, 
Cousin  Mary?" 

"I  did  not."  More  cryptic.  "All  the  time 
that  self-indulgent  creature  was  here  he  reminded 
me  of  those  wretched  picture  puzzles  in  the  news- 
papers :  *  Find  the  duck,'  '  Find  the  frog,'  *  Find 
the  girl ; '  at  first  I  could  not  see  a  trace  of  the 
boy  I  used  to  know — it  was  all  concealed  in  a 
whirligig  of  lines.  However,  being  of  an  in- 
quisitive nature,  I  looked  and  looked :  after  a  long 


A  MAN'S  REACH  239 

time  I  saw  the  wing  of  the  duck,  the  leg  of  the 
frog,  the  foot  of  the  girl.  In  other  words,  little 
bits  of  Chattie's  son  would  struggle  through  the 
ghastly  confusion." 

"  Wasn't  it  nice  to  see  the  little  bits?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know." 

"  If  you  don't  know,  I  am  sorry  for  you. 
Let's  go  in  to  supper."  Lettice  rather  languidly 
left  the  settee  for  the  dining-room. 

Later  the  two  sat  in  silence  by  the  drawing- 
room  lamp,  Cousin  Mary's  tireless  needles  a  little 
on  the  girl's  nerves. 

The  evening  was  far  spent  when  Lettice  an- 
nounced suddenly :  "  The  Bible  told  me  to  have 
Randolph  here;  and  then  it  told  me  to  have  a 
'  Queen-of-May '  for  Almira  and  Dog-town." 

"  I  didn't  know  you  ever  read  the  Bible." 

"  You  didn't  ?    Why  didn't  you  ?  " 

Cousin  Mary  knit  frantically  with  tight  lips. 

"  Why  didn't  you  ?  "  Lettice  asked  again,  and 
again  Cousin  Mary  would  not  answer.  So  Let- 
tice went  on :  "I  have  been  always  quite  a  Bible 
reader,  but  for  a  long  time,  Cousin  Mary,  I  read 
it  like  you  read  it." 

"Like  I  read  it?" 

This  time  Lettice  took  the  liberty  of  not 
answering. 

"  When  I  was  confirmed,  mamma  told  me  it 


240  A  MAN'S  REACH 

was  very  necessary  for  me  to  read  my  Bible 
through  every  year:  she  had  read  hers  through 
and  through  twenty-five  times.  I  did  as  she  told 
me  to  do — it  took  about  seven  chapters  a  day,  but 
I  kept  on  keeping  on.  How  I  did  rattle  through 
those  chapters!  After  a  long,  long  time  I  got 
awfully  tired,  and  finally  stopped  reading  the  Bible 
altogether.  But  when  I  was  in  Bolingbroke  some 
years  ago  I  met  a  wonderful  young  Scotch  clergy- 
man, and  he  convinced  me  that  the  Bible  would 
tell  me  how  to  live  if  I  read  it  right.  I  have  been 
trying  to  do  this,  and  I  don't  pay  much  attention 
to  the  number  of  chapters.  The  Bible  is  full  of 
the  poor  and  needy,  the  sick  and  the  afflicted ;  the 
Bible  says  we  can  cast  out  devils  if  we  try." 

Mary  Nicolson  flung  her  knitting  on  the  floor, 
and  gasped  as  she  announced: 

"If  there  were  any  insanity  in  our  family,  I 
should  think  you  were  mad.  You  had  better  keep 
a  sharp  watch  on  yourself,  Lettice." 

"  And  was  there  insanity  anywhere,  Cousin 
Mary?" 

"  I  must  confess,"  hesitatingly,  "  that  I  did  hear 
of  a  great-grandmother  who  thought  she  was  a 
teapot :  she  crooked  one  arm  for  the  handle,  and 
lifted  the  other  for  a  spout;  and  so  she  sat  day 
after  day:  she  was  perfectly  harmless — poor 
thing." 


A  MAN'S  REACH  241 

"  But  so  uncomfortable.  How  long  did  she 
keep  it  up,  Cousin  Mary?  " 

"  Until  she  got  what  she  wanted.  The  story 
goes  that  her  husband  refused  to  give  her  a  new 
bonnet  and  some  other  things,  but  that  the  teapot 
ruse  got  on  his  nerves,  and  he  not  only  told  her 
to  get  a  new  bonnet  but  everything  else  she 
wanted.  I  believe  she  was  all  right  after  that." 

"  A  most  brilliant  ancestor.  May  I  have  her 
name,  please,  Cousin  Mary  ?  " 

"  No,  that  would  not  be  respectful." 

"  Anyway  I  shall  erect  a  little  shrine  in  my 
heart  to  her  memory.  She  had  the  courage  of 
her  convictions :  she  evidently  thought  for  her- 
self." For  some  moments  Lettice  tapped  the  table 
with  an  ivory  paper-cutter,  then  looking  earnestly 
at  Cousin  Mary,  she  asked :  "  Do  you  ever  listen 
to  Christ?  Does  He  ever  tell  you  what  to  do?  " 

Cousin  Mary  drew  a  long  breath :  "  Lettice, 
you  positively  amaze  and  shock  me.  You  vent- 
ure to  ask  questions  that  are  only  fit  for  the  emo- 
tional confusion  of  a  camp-meeting.  There  are 
certain  things  that  are  never  spoken  of  in  polite 
society." 

"  But  this  is  a  thing  that  should  be  constantly 
spoken:  I  think  I've  cast  out  a  devil  and  Christ 
told  me  to  do  it."  Sincerity  like  a  chain  held  the 
eyes  of  Lettice  fast  and  still. 

18 


242  A  MAN'S  REACH 

"  If  I  were  the  proper  person  I  would  cable  for 
your  father  and  mother  without  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation. I  never  heard  such  blasphemy — such 
audacity."  The  older  woman  panted  with  indig- 
nation. 

"  You  have  to  be  audacious,  Cousin  Mary,  to 
accomplish  anything.  I  have  only  done  what  I 
couldn't  help  doing  to  save  my  life.  It  seemed 

to  me  such  a  pity  for — for "  Lettice  could 

not  speak  for  some  moments,  then  as  if  frantic 
for  some  sort  of  approval  or  sympathy  she  went 
on  in  her  nervous  intensity,  "  I  love  Randolph, 
Cousin  Mary,  I  cannot  help  it,  and  I  must  try 
to  save  him." 

"  Poor  child !  "  came  hesitatingly  from  Mary 
Nicolson's  thin  lips. 

"  I  have  looked  everywhere  for  remedies  all 
by  myself;  I  have  feebly  tried  to  strike  my  divine 
spark  and  hold  it  to  the  candle  in  his  soul.  Will 
it  ever  light,  Cousin  Mary?  I  have  done  all  I 
could — my  very,  very  best."  The  restraint  of 
the  last  months  broke  into  jagged  fragments,  and 
Lettice  sobbed  with  her  bright  head  on  Mary 
Nicolson's  lap.  She  found  comfort  in  confession, 
even  to  a  frozen  priest. 

But  wonderful,  strange  Mary  Nicolson  is  not  a 
frozen  priest. 

"  Lettice,"  she  began,  "  I  wish,  I — w-i-s-h 
I "  Mary  was  sobbing,  too." 


A  MAN'S  REACH  248 

"  Did  you  ever  love  as  I  love  Randolph,  Cousin 
Mary?"  The  tiny  crack  in  the  high  wall  of  a 
lonely  woman's  reserve  revealed  to  Lettice  a  far- 
away disappointment  still  sharp  and  cruel;  and 
her  question  was  broidered  with  a  touching  ten- 
derness that  pulled  the  curtain  from  Mary's  heart. 

"  I  loved,  Lettice,  but  not  as  you  love.  I  let 
my  love  go  out  in  the  darkness,  all  alone.  God 
pity  me !  " 


XXII 

BOLINGBROKE  fights  the  battle  of  the  heat  in 
August.  Her  battle-cry — "  W-a-t-e-rrr  M-i-1- 
1-i-o-n-n-s.  W-a-t-e-r  M-i-1-l-i-o-n-n-n-s.  H-a-n- 
ov-e-r-r-r-W-a-t-e-r-m-i-1-l-i-on-s !  "  The  bat- 
tle-crier, a  Hanover  negro,  in  a  green  tumbrel 
cart  with  a  white  hood,  drawn  by  a  Hanover  mule 
with  a  piece  of  red  flannel  dangling  from  his 
bridle.  The  same  negro,  the  same  cart,  the  same 
hood,  the  same  mule — all  day  long  and  far  into 
the  night — from  time  immemorial. 

It  was  one  o'clock  at  night,  the  whole  city 
was  panting,  when  Randolph  rang  for  Simon. 
The  sharp  twang  of  the  bell  roused  his  mother; 
she  first  called,  then  got  up,  and  went  to  Ran- 
dolph's room.  . 

"Anything  the  matter,  Son-Boy?"  she  asked. 

"  Nothing,"  Randolph  spoke  testily.  "  I  rang 
for  Simon,  mother,  not  for  you." 

Charlotte,  a  little  uneasy,  left  quietly;  and 
Simon,  very  drowsy,  appeared. 

"  Bring  me  some  mint  from  the  bed,  Simon, 
some  sugar  and  cracked  ice  and "  Ran- 
dolph's words  scurried  guiltily  like  the  feet  of  a 
little  child  racing  to  mischief  before  prevented  by 
maternal  solicitude. 

244 


A  MAN'S  REACH  245 

Simon's  expression  made  him  add,  "  Nothing 
in  the  house?  " 

"  Not  a  single  Cordless."  Simon  understood 
the  language. 

"  Mother  always  keeps  a  little." 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  not  sence  she  tu'n  temp'runce." 

"  I've  got  to  have  some  from  somewhere." 

"  I  dunno  whar  dat  whar  is,  Marse  Randuff. 
It  sho*  did  hu't  my  feelin's,  but  Miss  Charlotte 
make  me  kyar  ev'ry  drap  to  dem  sick  folks." 

"What  sick  folks?" 

"  Dem  memorials,  an'  Retreat,  an*  Sheltering 
Armies.  You  may  not  believe  me,  Marse  Randuff, 
but  it  hu't  me  as  much  as  it  hu't  you,  fo'  Gawd." 

"  I  have  got  to  have  some,  Simon." 

"Whar  fu'm,  Marse  Randuff?" 

"  You  go  as  fast  as  you  can  to  Mr.  Boyd's  and 
whistle!  You  know  our  call  as  well  as  I  do. 
Whistle  loud,  tell  Tom  Boyd  when  he  raises  his 
window  that  I  want  a  bottle  of  whiskey  quick! 
Make  haste,  Simon !  " 

Simon  soon  came  back  with  a  bottle,  but  in 
the  meantime  the  blatant,  begging,  continuing 
screech  of  a  fire-alarm  had  quickly  put  Randolph 
into  his  clothes  and  out  of  the  house. 

Down  Benjamin  Street  he  ran  with  the  excited 
crowd.  Men  of  his  own  age  and  size  easily  out- 
distanced him.  "  The  efficiency  of  soberness," 
Randolph  thought  as  he  panted  along. 


£46  A  MAN'S  REACH 

"  Colonel  Ambler's,"  "  Mr.  Middleton's,"  "  All 
Angels'  Church,"  the  crowd  guessed  as  it  rushed 
eastward.  Then  throbbing  with  one  intense 
lament :  "  The  Jefferson !  The  Jefferson !  " 

The  Jefferson!  The  last  word  of  an  opulent 
philanthropist,  now  beyond  the  drama  of  flame, 
the  pride  of  Bolingbroke,  the  most  artistic  hotel 
in  America !  On  fire !  Bolingbroke  raced,  cried, 
and  took  off  its  coat  to  divert  the  calamity. 

"  Save  the  things !  The  hotel  is  doomed !  " 
rang  like  a  cracked  bell. 

"  Try  to  save  Colonel  Ambler's  things,  too — 
his  house  is  gone." 

Flame  waved  from  roof  and  window  of  the 
Mooresque  symphony,  smoke  soared  high  and  ran 
along  the  quiet  sky  like  a  scudding  cloud :  voice, 
hammer,  feet,  water  orchestrated ;  while  pictures, 
rugs,  vases  and  tables  huddled  in  the  street  like 
tearful  emigrants. 

Thirst  was  gone,  mint  julep  dethroned  by  reck- 
less energy.  Randolph  pitched  in  with  the  rest, 
rushing,  lifting,  pulling  down,  giving  orders  like 
the  captain  that  he  was.  After  awhile  he  found 
himself  again  one  of  the  old  gang — the  Hoboes, 
and  Robert  Catlett  had  left  the  Hellamites  and 
joined  them.  He  heard  Threshley,  Dame  and  the 
rest  call  "  Turberville !  Turberville !  "  as  in  the 
old  glorious  days  when  "  Virginia "  played 
*  Chapel  Hill  "  to  a  finish. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  247 

Together  they  made  a  ring  and  lifted  Valen- 
tine's Thomas  Jefferson  from  the  smoking 
rotunda.  The  statue  was  heavy  and  unwieldy  and 
the  noble,  wavy  head  struck  a  column,  cracked, 
broke,  and  fell  on  the  marble  floor. 

Randolph  let  go  quickly,  picked  up  the  head, 
and  cried:  "  Not  hurt,  the  old  boy  just  broke  his 
neck.  It  can  be  fixed  all  right ! "  He  bore  the 
head  out,  deposited  it  gently  in  a  weeping  lady's 
lap,  and  went  back  hand  to  hand,  shoulder  to 
shoulder,  brain  to  brain,  heart  to  heart  with  his 
old  friends,  the  Hoboes,  who  had  made  men  of 
themselves. 

They  fought  till  morning,  the  old  Hoboes,  the 
merchants,  the  preachers,  the  street  sweepers,  the 
ladies,  the  children  of  Bolingbroke,  all  for  the 
Jefferson:  they  saved  some  of  it;  they  could  not 
save  all.  It  was  a  lurid  night  that  ushered  in  a 
windless,  sun-baked  day,  but  Randolph's  thirst 
was  gone  into  a  community  of  interest  and  energy. 

"  Have  you  seen  Robert  Catlett's  brother,  Saint 
George,  lately  ?  "  he  asked  his  mother  when  talk- 
ing over  the  fire  the  next  morning  at  breakfast. 
"  O-o-o-h,  not  for  years.    Why  ?  " 
"  Last  night,  when  every  man  was  working  his 
tongue  out,  I  noticed  a  pale-faced  man  fairly 
hanging  on  to  Kitty  Nestles.     I  believe  'twas 
Saint  Catlett.     I  don't  remember  the  last  time  I 


248  A  MAN'S  REACH 

saw  him:  but  I  too  well  recall  the  little  curly- 
haired  boy  who  was  always  sucking  candy  and 
I  think  I  would  know  him  now.  He  looked,  last 
night,  like  a  half  of  a  man,  who  was  still  sucking 
candy  made  out  of  glucose  and  awful  poisonous 
things." 

"  I  hope  not.    Were  you  sure  it  was  Kitty?  " 

"  Perfectly." 

"How  did  she  look?" 

"  Like  a  blood-sucker — a  soul  destroyer.  She 
is  fat,  and  her  pink  cheeks  are  purple ;  she  has  lost 
perspective,  values;  her  hair  is  the  color  of  a 
pumpkin — but,  but  in  spite  of  all  this,  there's 
a  faint  suggestion  of  that  radiant  Kitty  who  took 
tea  and  danced  so  divinely  here  long,  long  ago." 

These  words  were  not  cold  on  Randolph's  lips 
before  Bill-Bob  Catlett  ran  in  to  tell  Mrs.  Tur- 
berville  that  his  parents  were  in  town;  and  she 
hospitably  true  to  the  South  forthwith  invited 
them  all  to  supper  the  next  evening. 

The  Catlett  family  was  prompt  to  accept  the 
cordial  invitation  and  Charlotte's  supper-table  on 
the  occasion  was  an  interesting  one  on  account  of 
the  difference  in  personalities  with  which  it  was 
surrounded.  She,  herself,  still  beautiful  as  a  rose 
that  has  lost  some  petals  in  a  storm,  smiled  behind 
a  fortress  of  old  muskmelon  silver.  The  pencil- 
ling of  care  upon  her  face  was  fine  as  the  stroke 
of  a  humming-bird's  wing;  the  sadness  of  her  eyes 


A  MAN'S  REACH  249 

was  veiled  with  love,  patience,  hope,  as  layers 
and  layers  of  chiffon  soften  the  scarlet  of  a 
woman's  gown.  A  brave  smile  obscured  the  jabs 
of  disappointment  around  her  mouth.  Her  hair, 
graying,  was  exquisitely  coiffured  and  her  sur- 
pliced  gown  revealed  the  girlish  ivory  of  her  neck. 

Eleanor  Catlett  sat  on  her  left.  Time  had 
shirred  her  face  like  puckered  satin,  and  washed 
her  eyes  with  apprehension.  Her  front  tooth  was 
gone,  and  when  she  smiled  she  drew  her  top  lip 
down  to  hide  the  aperture.  Chattie  met  Time 
with  a  sturdy  vidette ;  Eleanor  let  Time  have  its 
way  with  no  interference.  On  Charlie's  right  sat 
Robert  Catlett,  Senior:  bearded,  wrinkled,  bald; 
his  hard,  rough  hands  witnesses  of  his  tireless 
efforts  for  his  boys ;  and  in  order  to  shield  the  in- 
efncacy  of  one,  he  was  apt  to  minimize  the  energy 
of  the  other.  He  emphasized  the  ease  of  a  preach- 
er's life,  and  spoke  with  some  bitterness  of  the 
struggle  for  a  livelihood  that  his  son  Saint  George 
always  had  to  make. 

Beside  his  mother  was  Robert,  Junior,  a  prop, 
a  comfort,  a  delight — a  glad  source  whence 
anxiety  could  never  come. 

At  the  foot  was  Randolph  emerging  from  dan- 
ger like  some  young  lieutenant  from  a  sunken 
submarine. 

The  Sally  Lunn  had  not  fallen,  the  waffles  were 


250  A  MAN'S  REACH 

as  light  as  foam,  the  soft  crabs  brown  to  a  turn, 
and  the  coffee  ambered  nectar. 

The  taciturnity  of  Robert  Catlett's  youth  had 
become  the  loquacity  of  age,  while  the  brilliancy 
of  Eleanor's  girlhood  had  smouldered  to  habitual 
seriousness.  At  first  the  husband  delivered  dia- 
tribes against  everything  in  Bolingbroke — motor- 
busses,  ha  ve-your- fare-ready  cars,  stationary 
basins;  while  Eleanor  to  make  things  pleasanter 
inquired  after  everybody  who  was  sick  or  dead. 

"Have  you  seen  Cousin  Carlotta  lately?" 
Eleanor  interrupted  her  husband  to  ask — Car- 
lotta was  the  mistress  of  Shirley,  and  Chattie's 
aunt. 

"  She  is  ill  in  Norfolk,  was  taken  sick  at  Mary 
Randolph's  house."  Chattie  spoke  with  feeling. 

"Very  ill?" 

"  Yes,  with  erysipelas — very  bad  at  Aunt  Car- 
lotta's  age." 

After  supper  the  young  men  went  out  in  the 
yard  to  smoke,  and  the  two  women  resigned  them- 
selves to  the  older  man's  continued  conversation. 
The  unavoidable  stiffness  of  the  re-acquaintance 
of  Randolph  and  Robert  had  gradually  yielded 
to  the  deep-rooted  affection  of  their  earlier  years. 
They  talked,  or  not,  as  they  chose. 

The  moon  filtered  spangles  through  the  thick 
linden  leaves  and  the  white  faces  of  the  moon- 
flowers  starred  the  lattice  by  the  kitchen  door  like 


*BK  CAREFDL  ABOUT  KITTY,  BII.Lr-BOB. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  251 

carven  pearl.  Robert  pulled  out  his  pipe  as  he  sat 
down  on  the  green  bench  and  began  to  fill  it. 
"An  easy  job?"  he  began.  "Dear  old  dad  is 
on  the  wrong  track.  The  success  of  any  business, 
Ran,  depends  upon  how  badly  people  want  your 
goods :  my  goods  are  unpopular,  people  don't  want 
to  invest  in  them,  so  I  have  a  hard  time  '  drum- 
ming ' — see  ?  " 

"  U-m-p-h,  u-m-p-h !  "  The  smoke  of  Ran's 
briarwood  cut  the  moonlight  like  a  gray  curl. 

"  When  I  show  my  samples  to  the  Magdalenes, 
the  Rich,  the  Cunning,  the  Profane — they  don't 
want  to  buy.  If  I  advocate  '  State-wide '  I'm 
destroying  the  prosperity  of  the  city;  if  I  refer 
to  '  Child-Labor '  or  the  '  Double-Standard,'  I'm 
an  advocate  for  Woman  Suffrage;  if  I  offer  an 
extempore  prayer  I'm  unorthodox;  if — if  I  try 
to  redeem  a  fallen  woman,  I'm  touching  pitch 
and  will  be  denied.  Not  an  easy  job,  Ran !  " 

"  You  bet  it's  not !  "    Randolph  puffed  on. 

"But  I  love  it.  What  do  you  think?  Mr. 
Didlake,  one  of  my  vestry,  came  after  me  about 
going  to  see  Kitty  Nestles.  Poor  Kitty  lives  in  an 
awful  rookery  on  Ninth  Street  and  is  forlorn  and 
miserable — I  must  try  to  do  something  for  her." 

"Be  careful  about  Kitty,  Bill-Bob!"  Ran- 
dolph's briarwood  was  in  his  hand  now. 

Neither  spoke  for  some  time,  when  Catlett 
began  again :  "  And  there's  Saint,  his  poor,  soft 


252  A  MAN'S  REACH 

heart  was  swept  and  garnished  up  in  Albemarle, 
and  now  I'm  afraid  '  reporting '  is  one,  at  least, 
of  the  seven  devils  for  him,  poor  fellow ! "  with 
a  sigh. 

Randolph  did  not  reply  for  some  moments ;  the 
subject  was  a  delicate  one. 

At  last  he  broke  the  summer  silence  with: 
"  How  that  expression — swept  and  garnished — 
has  taken  hold  of  the  world !  " 

"  Because  it  is  so  wonderfully  true.  We  take 
the  little  devil  by  the  scruff  of  his  neck  and  sling 
him  out  of  comfortable  quarters  and  clean  up  the 
place  carefully — but  don't  put  anything  in  to 
watch  it.  The  little  devil  returns,  hangs  around : 
the  house  is  nice,  clean,  empty :  and  the  little  devil 
goes  off  and  gets  other  little  devils  and  they  all 
enter  his  old  quarters  and  live  there  and  kick  up 
Ned.  Nothing  more  deadly  than  emptiness,  idle- 
ness. You  know  how  boys  steal  lead  pipe  and 
things  out  of  an  empty  house;  and  how  the  rats, 
roaches,  water  bugs  and  things  take  possession." 

"  Is  there  not  sometimes  unavoidable  idleness, 
emptiness  ?  "  Randolph  was  very  serious. 

"  Never,"  said  Bill-Bob  emphatically. 

Randolph  sighed. 

"  You're  a  common-sense  Jasper,  Bill-Bob.  Re- 
member how  contemptuous  my  crowd  at  '  Vir- 
ginia '  was  to  a  fellow  who  affected  the  Y.M.C.A., 
and  dubbed  him  '  Jasper  '  ?  " 


A  MAN'S  REACH  253 

Bill-Bob  nodded. 

"  Clergymen  are  great  snobs,  sometimes,  but 
you  are  a  man.  You  would  not  be  afraid  to  call 
a  Rock  feller  a  '  tight-wad  '  if  he  was :  or  to  shake 
hands  with  a  murderer,  would  you  ?  " 

"If  my  hand  would  do  him  any  good  he  should 
have  it.  I  am  a  man,  all  right,  Ran,  and  I  glory 
in  it.  I  have  felt  the  crimson  of  passion,  but 
the  hand  of  God  held  fast  the  ivory  door.  I 
have  felt  the  bite  of  thirst,  but  the  hand  of  God 
put  the  glass  of  berry-red  wine  out  of  my  reach. 
I  love  to  spend  on  myself,  but  God  takes  my  gold 
and  gives  it  to  the  poor.  I'm  no  namby-pamby 
eunuch,  Ran,  but  I've  seen  God — that  is  all." 

Again  they  were  silent  in  the  moon-warm, 
summer-scented  night. 

"  Know  Tagore?  "  Ran  asked. 

"  I  love  the  '  Gardener  ' — '  Mine  is  heart,  my 
beloved.'  " 

Ran  was  startled  by  the  feeling  in  Robert 
Catlett's  voice,  and  stunned  by  his  words: 

"  I  like  Tagore,  mystic,  sinuous,  tender :  but 
we  cold  occidentals  can't  half  understand  him 
unless  we,  too,  are  thrilled  by  passion.  I  am 
afraid  of  myself  when  " — he  stopped — "  when — 
where  love  for  a  woman  comes  in.  I  know  that  if 
I  were  ever  called  upon  to  help  a  fellow  get  the 
girl  I  loved  and  couldn't  get,  I  should  be  found 
wanting." 


254  A  MAN'S  REACH 

"  You  mean,  even  if  she  did  not  love  you,  you 
would  not  be  able  to  make  it  easy  for  the  other 
fellow  to  get  her?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  wouldn't,  and  I  hope  I  will  not 
be  tried." 

"  I  suppose  only  a  real  saint  could  do  it." 

"'Twould  be — "  Catlett  paused.  "Your 
mother  is  calling  you !  " 

Chattie  met  Robert  and  Randolph  at  the  back 
door:  "Aunt  Carlotta  is  dead,"  she  spoke  tear- 
fully, holding  a  telegram  in  her  hand.  "  She  died 
at  ten  o'clock  in  Norfolk." 

The  five  of  them  sat  in  the  library  and  talked 
of  Carlotta  Carter. 

"  Is  that  twelve  o'clock?  "  Eleanor  asked  as  the 
clock  chimed. 

"  Who  would  have  thought  it  was  so  late  ? 
Robert  is  an  owl,  but  Bill-Bob  needs  rest.  I  hear 
his  tossing  and  mumbling  all  through  the  night: 
last  night  he  cried  out,  '  Let  Saint  George  alone, 
Kitty ;  let  Saint  alone ! '  I  expect  he  thought  they 
were  all  playing  and  squabbling  again,  in  Albe- 
marle." 


XXIII 

BOLINGBROKE  offered  the  city  tug  to  convey 
the  friends  and  relatives  of  Carlotta  Carter  to  her 
funeral.  This  action  of  Bolingbroke  emphasized 
the  social  importance  of  Mrs.  Carlotta  Louisa 
Carter,  late  mistress  of  Shirley. 

Randolph  and  his  mother  were  next  of  kin, 
and  they  joined  twenty-two  others  of  the  elect 
at  the  dock  upon  a  gold-dust  September  day.  The 
twenty-two  did  not  approve  of  Randolph,  he  had 
gone  contrary  to  Carlotta's  counsel ;  but  Charlotte 
Turberville,  in  her  creaseless  mourning  and  elo- 
quent reserve,  visualized  Carlotta's  gospel,  and 
held  her  hand  on  Randolph's  arm  most  of  the  way. 

Like  those  regretful  Bible  women,  Carlotta's 
friends  upon  the  city  tug  spoke  of  her  virtues,  and 
metaphorically  spread  out  the  garments  she  had 
made. 

"  She  was  a  personage,  indeed,"  the  Governor 
of  Virginia  announced. 

"  The  only  Chatelaine  of  Virginia,"  Bishop 
Randolph  was  tearful,  and  positive. 

"  I  adored  her ;"  a  rosy  young  girl  had  found 
her  tongue,  hitherto  tied  by  the  awe  in  which  she 
held  the  small  but  distinguished  company.  "  I 
thrilled  when  she  told  of  the  Prince  of  Wales 

255 


266  A  MAN'S  REACH 

visiting  Shirley,  and  about  General  Lee  standing 
in  the  drawing-room  just  upon  the  spot  where 
his  parents,  Light  Horse  Harry  and  Anne  Carter 
had  plighted  their  troth.  Who  will  inherit  the 
place?" 

"  Diana  and  Felicia,  of  course."  Charlotte 
always  spoke  when  she  believed  it  necessary. 

"  But  after  they  are  gone?  "  The  rosy  girl  in- 
voluntarily turned  to  Randolph,  as  did  several 
others  of  the  party. 

Randolph  was  detached,  remote,  gazing  at  the 
white  ruffles  on  the  tawny  water.  He  felt  himself 
an  experiment  which  his  self -satisfied  cousins  were 
watching  skeptically.  He  saw  the  zeal  of  Lettice 
on  the  face  of  the  water ;  and  from  this  wonderful 
lighthouse  little  red  ropes  leaped  and  knotted 
themselves  around  him, — to  keep  him  up.  The 
very  fact  of  his  being  a  part,  even  though  unwel- 
come, of  this  proud  party,  was  tonic. 

The  city  tug  reached  Shirley  wharf  at  two 
o'clock:  the  Norfolk  boat  which  had  borne  Car- 
lotta's  body  up  the  James  lay  there,  still  and  silent 
— an  imposing  catafalque  with  flags  at  half-staff. 

They  landed,  two  and  two,  walked  up  the  shady 
road,  across  the  lawn,  under  the  tulip  poplars 
(trembling  balls  of  gold  to-day)  to  the  Shirley 
door.  Charlotte's  hand  was  still  on  Randolph's 
arm. 

Clergyman  and  chief  mourners  had  awaited 


A  MAN'S  REACH  257 

the  party  coming  on  the  city  tug,  and  they  all 
went  down  the  great  hall  to  the  drawing-room 
decked  with  Carlotta's  garden  flowers — where  lay 
Carlotta,  close  in  her  narrow,  black  bed. 

"I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life!"  Ran- 
dolph raised  his  eyes  to  the  portraits  on  the  wall, 
— a  flock  of  souls  winged  their  disembodied  way 
in  his  mental  vision — Aunt  Carlotta  well  behind : 
his  mother  would  follow  after  a  while,  then 
Cousin  Felicia  and  Cousin  Diana  and  himself. 
His  thoughts  were  sweet,  they  gave  him  a  sense 
of  spirituality;  he  was  a  link  in  an  endless  chain. 

"  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth !  " — these 
stately  words  had  been  said  at  least  sixteen  times 
in  this  mellow  drawing-room  over  Randolph's  im- 
mediate ancestors.  The  thought  was  inspiring, 
it  effaced  the  memory  of  the  chill  formality  of 
the  elect  on  the  city  tug.  It  twisted  another  life- 
line to  pull  him  ashore. 

From  the  portraits  Randolph  shifted  his  gaze 
to  Carlotta's  neighbors,  whose  grief  for  their 
friend  was  so  genuine :  he  saw  their  battered  pride 
capsuled  in  straight,  thin  noses,  in  heads  held 
high  by  the  check-rein  of  memory.  He  felt  some- 
thing very  tender  that  was  lacking  in  his  newer 
world. 

"  Peace,  perfect  peace,"  was  too  new  for  this 
inherited  ceremony,  but  when  the  old  clergyman 

17 


258  A  MAN'S  REACH 

read,  "  I  would  not  live  alway,  I  ask  not  to  stay," 
not  a  voice  refused  to  join  the  chorus : 

"  Home,  home,  sweet,  sweet  home ! 
There's  no  place  like  heaven,  there's  no  place  like  home ! " 

Young  cousins  of  Carlotta  tenderly  bore  her 
body  from  the  drawing-room  to  the  wagonette 
with  four  horses  which  stood  at  the  Shirley  door. 
At  the  head  of  each  horse  a  stalwart  negro 
stepped;  behind  walked  the  representatives  of 
great  houses — two  and  two,  two  and  two :  Shirley 
and  Brandon ;  Tuckahoe  and  Deer-Chase ;  Berke- 
ley and  Timberneck ;  Rosegill  and  Laneville ;  and 
others. 

"  Dust  to  dust.  Ashes  to  ashes !  "  The  close, 
black  bed  went  slowly  down,  and  the  representa- 
tives of  the  great  houses  took  up  the  spades  and 
lovingly  covered  Carlotta.  As  Randolph  swung 
the  spade  in  and  out,  he,  to  himself,  seemed  to 
be  burying  the  crimson  of  his  past  in  Aunt  Car- 
lotta's  love,  filtering  the  dregs  of  his  soul  through 
her,  shaping  the  scheme  of  an  earnest  life. 

He  walked  back  with  his  mother  through  the 
garden,  an  ecstasy  of  dahlias,  cosmos  and  chrys- 
anthemums; a  requiem  of  pale,  autumn  roses. 
It  soothed  him  like  ethereal  balm  and  reconciled 
him  to  the  aloofness  of  his  relatives;  he  could 
expect  nothing  else  until  he  convinced  them  that 
"  he  that  was  dead  is  risen  again." 


A  MAN'S  REACH  259 

As  he  unlatched  the  garden  gate  opening  to  the 
lawn,  a  motor  car  chugged  up  to  the  door  and 
Henry  Corbin,  of  Laneville,  aged  since  he  last 
saw  him,  came  out  of  the  Shirley  house,  followed 
by  a  svelt  figure  in  a  dark  cloth  suit. 

Lettice !  In  a  moment  the  ethereal  balm  changed 
to  croton  oil.  Where  was  she  before,  that  Ran- 
dolph had  not  seen  her? 

Ah,  but  she  sees  him  now,  and  the  fluttering 
of  her  tiny  handkerchief  is  another  life-line. 

Soon  everybody  had  gone  but  Chattie  and 
Randolph;  Chattie  was  a  daughter  of  the  house. 

Felicia  and  Diana,  Carlotta's  daughters,  came 
down  to  supper  with  the  composure  of  good  breed- 
ing, and  took  the  head  and  foot  of  the  table,  while 
Charlotte  and  Randolph  sat  on  either  side.  The 
table  seemed  big  and  lonely. 

"  Mother  was  always  wishing  you  would  come 
down,  Randolph."  Felicia's  voice  was  low.  "  She 
was  afraid  you  did  not  care  for  the  old  place ;  but 
you  do,  don't  you?  " 

"  I  love  it,  Cousin  Felicia,  and  I  loved  Aunt 
Carlotta:  I  was  no  end  of  a  fool  not  to  come 
oftener." 

"  I  am  sure  you  loved  her,  Randolph.  One 
or  two  lumps,  Chattie? "  Diana's  hand  grasp- 
ing the  old  sugar  tongs  was  long  and  white  as 
her  mother's. 

"  Mamma  knew  how  gay  and  busy  a  young 


MO  A  MAN'S  REACH 

city  man  is  and  understood:  she  just  wanted  to 
see  more  of  you."  Felicia's  smile  was  like  winter 
sunlight. 

Nobody  spoke  for  some  moments :  each  one  was 
at  attention  for  Carlotta.  Then  Diana  timidly  told 
of  her  last  hours;  her  words  tipping  carefully  on 
the  edge  of  tears. 

After  supper,  back  into  the  drawing-room 
where  the  black  bed  had  stood !  They  all  walked 
reverently  over  the  carpet  patterned  with  red 
and  pink  roses  tumbling  from  brown  baskets. 
Felicia  spied  white  petals  from  the  coffin  roses 
spilled  on  the  unfading  reds  and  pinks  of  the 
room :  in  a  second  she  was  on  her  knees,  sobbing : 
"  Mother !  Mother !  "  and  pressing  the  sacred 
leaves  to  her  quivering  cheeks. 

Randolph  fell  on  his  knees  beside  her :  "  Dear, 
dear  Cousin  Felicia,  I'm  so  sorry !  "  When  had 
he  wept  before? 

At  bed-time  each  cousin  kissed  Randolph: 
"  Good-night,  dear,"  Diana  whispered.  "  Be  a 
good  boy ! " 

"  Be  a  good  boy.  Be  a  good  boy."  Randolph 
could  not  get  the  words  out  of  his  mind.  "  How 
could  a  fellow  who  has  such  a  hinterland  as  I 
ever  forget  it  ?  " 

The  old  chaps,  below,  in  their  dull  gold  frames, 
had  chided  him:  his  Cousins  Diana  and  Felicia 
made  him  blush. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  2«1 

In  Carlotta's  carved  bed,  Felicia  and  Diana  lay. 
They  must  be  close  together  to-night. 

"  I  believe  Randolph  is  all  right,  Diana." 
"  I  do,  too,  Felicia.    People  love  to  tell  horrid 
things,  but  he  is  just  as  sweet  and  loving  as  he 
can  be.    I  wish  mother  had  never  heard  anything 
disagreeable  about  him." 

"  So  do  I.  He  doesn't  look  to  me  as  if  he  ever 
tasted  a  drop,  Diana." 

"  He  certainly  doesn't,  Felicia." 
"  He  loves  the  old  things,  too,  Diana." 
"  He  looks  like  the  Master  of  Shirley  should, 
doesn't  he,  Felicia?" 
"  Indeed  he  does." 

In  a  few  days,  Randolph  and  his  mother  re- 
turned to  Bolingbroke  on  the  good  ship  Poca- 
hontas ;  and  before  they  reached  the  city  Randolph 
had  asked  Charlotte  to  lend  him  enough  money 
to  begin  again. 


XXIV 

A  SENSE  of  faint  security  came  at  last  to  Ran- 
dolph ;  he  found  that  he  was  willing  to  avail  him- 
self of  the  subtlest  remedies  for  his  relief.  He 
was  constantly  off  in  the  fields :  he  read  Spinoza, 
Bourignon,  Emerson,  the  Bible — and  his  favorite 
texts  were  "  He  who  puts  on  purity  shall  put  off 
impurity,"  and  "  He  that  was  dead  is  risen  again." 

He  felt  his  heterogeneous  personality  yielding  to 
a  unifying  power;  instead  of  trying — at  last, 
something  was  beginning  to  act. 

His  office  was  the  same  in  which  he  and  other 
"  good- fellows  "  had  so  recklessly  caroused;  and 
the  same  sign-painter,  who  had  put  "  Randolph 
Turberville  "  on  the  glass  door  seven  years  ago, 
remarked  brutally :  "  I  have  painted  your  name 
on  twice  and  taken  it  off  once;  wonder  who  will 
take  it  off  next  time !  " 

"  No  next  time,  friend !  "  Randolph's  earnest- 
ness impressed  Mr.  Sign-Painter. 

"  The  '  hole-in-the-wall's  '  mighty  close :  one 
finger  to-day,  two — to-morrer,  is  the  way  with 
young  fellows  like  you." 

"No  finger  to-day  and  none  to-morrow  is  safer." 

"  Not  a  God's  doubt  er  that,"  said  Mr.  Sign- 
Painter. 

262 


A  MAN'S  REACH  £63 

Business  was  desperately  slow ;  Randolph  began 
with  a  little  collecting,  made  a  few  feeble  steps  on 
the  misdemeanors  of  negroes,  and  Robert  Catlett 
got  him  to  make  his  will.  "  Bill-Bob  would  gladly 
be  guilty  of  some  indiscretion  to  help  me  along," 
thought  Randolph,  "  but  no  chance,  even,  of  indisT 
cretion  in  Bill-Bob's  sane  self." 

The  psalmist  scorns  the  man  who  sitteth  by 
himself.  Randolph  sat  by  himself  a  great  part  of 
his  office  hours ;  but  with  him  was  a  "  Libanus  " 
that  skipped  like  a  calf;  a  "  Sirion"  that  was  as 
care- free  as  a  young  Unicorn — the  Boadicean  will 
of  Lettice  Corbin. 

The  busy,  somewhat  scornful  barristers  in  the 
Mutual  Building — where  was  also  the  office  of 
Randolph — occasionally  threw  him  stale  crumbs 
from  their  full  tables  which  he  greedily  devoured ; 
and  well-picked  bones  which  he  as  eagerly  gnawed. 
Then  upon  a  stormy,  dreary  day  two  Greeks,  fight- 
ing, were  arrested,  and  one,  who  had  seen  Ran- 
dolph play  ball,  sent  for  him  to  defend  him. 

When  Randolph  appeared  before  Justice  John, 
in  behalf  of  the  young  exile,  he  was  as  self- 
conscious  as  a  debutante,  and  unfortunately  fell 
into  the  snare  of  poetry — closing  his  speech  with : 

"The  mountains  look  on  Marathon, 

And  Marathon  looks  on  the  sea, 
And  musing  there  an  hour  alone 

I  dreamed  that  Greeks  might  yet  be  free." 


264  A  MAN'S  REACH 

The  justice  shifted  his  quid  contemptuously  and 
withered  Randolph  with — "  A  darned  foolish 
dream.  Sixty  days !  " 

His  second  case  was  not  as  disastrous. 

Mandy,  the  cook  and  true  wife  of  Simon,  the 
Butler,  was  his  next  client.  Mandy  had  shut  the 
door  in  the  face  of  the  census  man. 

"  He  was  too  questionsome,"  she  explained  to 
Charlotte — horrified  at  Mandy's  summons  to  the 
police  court. 

"  About  what,  Mandy?  " 

"  You,  Miss  Chattie." 

"  Me?  "  somewhat  astonished. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  dat  scandrel  say  how  he  wanted 
yo*  age — a  young  no-count  devil ;  in  course  I  shet 
de  do'." 

Mandy's  appearance  at  the  police  court  was  a 
little  disconcerting — apron  as  white  as  snow,  face 
as  honest  as  the  day — the  Justice,  an  arch  reader 
of  negro  character,  knew  she  was  innocent;  but 
he  was  going  to  have  some  fun  before  he  dis- 
charged her. 

"  Your  name  ?  "  very  sternly. 

"  Yessuh !     My  name  Mandy  Moore,  yessuh." 

"How  old?" 

"  Old  as  Hector." 

"  Who,  in  the  devil,  is  Hector?  " 

"  De  Tubbeville's  old  setter  dawg ;  we  born  de 
same  day." 


A  MAN'S  REACH  265 

"Ho wold  is  Hector?" 

"  The  Lord  know,  suh,  I  don't." 

"  Where  do  you  live,  Mandy  ?  " 

"  Right  here  wid  Mis'  Charlotte."  Mandy  drew 
a  long  breath.  "  An'  dat  whar  dat  yuther  white 
gemmen  got  inter  trubble.  I  lives  wid  Mis'  Char- 
lotte Tubbeville;  you  done  hear  'bout  de  Tubbe- 
villes — ain't  yer?  " 

"  I  think  so." 

"  You  knows  so,"  under  her  breath. 

"  Are  you  married,  Mandy  ?  " 

"  Twice,  suh.  My  fuss  husban'  dade,  an'  ef 
Simon,  he's  my  second,  'd  die,  I'd  nuvver  have 
any  man  Christ  died  for  agin'." 

"Any  children?" 

"  Yessuh — Jeter,  and  a  couple  er  twins." 

"  Two  sets  of  twins  or  one  pair?  " 

"  Jes'  two  gals,  suh,  Nora  and  Cora.  Cora  de 
bes'  one;  she  dade.  Nora  gone  out  yonder,  and 
Jeter,  too." 

"  Can  you  read,  Mandy  ?  " 

"  No  more'n  a  goat,  suh." 

"Born  a  slave?" 

"  Dat's  mouty  like  assin'  'bout  age,  suh.  De 
Tubbevilles  is  my  folks,  dem  at  Six  and  Benjamin. 
You  done  hear  of  'em,  ain't  yer  ?  I  done  raise  ebry 
chile  dey  had  an'  Marse  Randuff  beside,  a  sottin' 
yonder.  An'  I  have  yer  to  know  you  mout  take 
a  fine  tooth  comb  an*  rake  dis  wurrl,  an*  nuwer 


26«  A  MAN'S  BEACH 

fine  a  nicer  gemmen  den  Marse  Randuff.  He's  a 
Tubbeville  an'  he  ma's  a  Kyarter,  an'  fo'  Gawd 
so  long's  my  hade's  hot  I  nuwer  gwi'  'low  no 
sententious  man  to  as'  no  unfair  question  'bout 
Mis'  Charlotte.  Dat's  why,  suh;  dat's  why!" 

The  case  was  dismissed. 

One  rainy  day  Randolph  found  himself  um- 
brella-less on  the  street ;  and  he  huddled  with  some 
negroes  and  white  people  under  an  awning  let 
down  over  vegetables  in  front  ot  a  green  grocery. 

"Is  you  got  nobody  to'  fen  yo'  pappy,  yit?" 
one  negro  asked  another. 

"  Not  yit."  The  negro  took  off  his  cap  and 
began  to  scratch  his  head.  "  Lawyer  Hopper  'low 
he  too  busy:  he  mean  he  know  I  ain't  got  no 
money.  Niggers  ain'  no  mo'  den  sheep:  I  know 
pappy  ain'  nuwer  kilt  nobody,  but  ef  he  is  he'll 
be  kilt  an'  ef  he  ain't  he'll  be  kilt,  'cause  'tain't 
nobody  but  de  '  Commonwell '  an'  he  ain't  er 
keerin'.  Dey  got  me  comin'  an'  goin',  an'  I  better 
keep  my  mouf  shet  an'  leave  pappy  in  de  han's 
er  Gawd." 

"  Good  'nuff  han's,"  the  first  speaker  remarked, 
«  ef— ef " 

"  Ef  what — brer'  Torm,  you  sho'  ain'  gwine 
put  no  slur  on  Gawd." 

"  'Cose  not,  boy,  it  jes'  'pear  to  me  dat  in  de 
way  er  de  law,  Gawd  allers  uses  a  slick  white- 
folks'  tongue.  Dat  all  I  mean." 


A  MAN'S  REACH  167 

Randolph  was  interested.  He  remembered 
every  circumstance  now :  Jacob  Spurlark,  a  very 
old  negro,  had  been  accused  of  the  murder  of 
Mrs.  Saddler,  a  white  woman  of  Chesterfield 
County.  The  negro  had  borne  a  splendid  repu- 
tation, and  his  arrest  and  imprisonment  had  caused 
a  lot  of  speculation. 

Mrs.  Saddler  lived  about  three  miles  from  old 
Jacob.  Evidently  she  had  a  package  of  vermilion 
in  a  drawer  with  her  money,  for  its  stain  was 
upon  a  sheet,  some  bacon  found  in  Jacob's  house, 
and  also  upon  Jacob's  hand.  Randolph  remem- 
bered the  whole  story  now,  and  he  listened  atten- 
tively as  Jacob's  son  went  on  dramatically  to  his 
comrades :  "  He  say  he  dunno  huccum  his  rheuma- 
tiz  ain'  keep  him  'wake  dat  night,  he  sleep  soun',  an' 
whin  he  look  out  in  de  mawnin'  an'  seen  de  white 
sheet  wid  red  'pon  it,  near  he  do',  an'  de  meat,  he 
jes'  natchelly  got  plum  skeered ;  an'  he  crope  out'n 
he  house  an'  got  de  meat  an'  de  sheet,  an'  hide 
'em  in  he  lof,  dat's  huccome  he  hans  red.  My 
pappy  wouldn't  kill  a  fly,  hardly — let  'lone  Mis' 
Saddler.  He  ain'  nuvver  did  it." 

The  rain  had  stopped,  and  Randolph  started 
home,  but  something  restrained  him,  and  he  made 
a  sign  to  the  shiftless  son  of  Jacob.  In  another 
moment  he  had  offered  to  defend  his  father. 

Randolph  Turberville  had  been  eating  syllabub, 
now  he  could  chew  meat.  He  plunged  with  his 


268  A  MAN'S  REACH 

old  fighting  spirit  into  the  hideous  details  of  a 
murder.  At  dead  of  night  he  found  himself  in 
imagination  in  the  dark  woods  between  Mrs. 
Saddler's  house  and  old  Jacob's  shanty.  He  read 
voraciously,  thought  with  violence.  He  talked 
day  after  day  with  the  old  negro,  and  went  over 
his  past  life  with  his  friends  and  acquaintances. 

Old  Jacob's  trembling  explanation  touched 
Randolph's  tender  heart :  "  Fo'  Gawd,  Marse  L'y- 
yer,  why  ain't  I  lef  dat  meat  an'  dat  sheet  'lone, 
an'  stay  in  my  bade  like  I  orter?  But  you  know, 
marster,  my  bent  laigs  ain'  nuvver  crope  thoo  dem 
dark  woods  in  de  dade  er  night  an'  kilt  Mis' 
Saddler.  I  ain'  able  to  kill  a  chicken  fer  my 
Sunday  dinner;  an'  de  mos'  I'se  uvver  dun  in  de 
wrong  way,  Gawd  know,  is  in  de  borrowin' 
chickens,  now  an'  den,  fum  de  white  folks;  but 
dat  ain't  nuttin'  like  sho'  nuff  killin'." 

The  day  of  old  Jacob's  trial,  Chesterfield  Court- 
House  was  packed  with  living  curiosity,  not  on 
account  of  old  Jacob  but  of  Randolph  Turber- 
ville.  The  voice  of  a  singer  had  been  stilled;  the 
pen  of  a  writer  had  stopped ;  the  legs  of  an  athlete 
were  broken.  Could  the  voice  return,  the  pen 
write  again,  the  broken  bone  and  muscle  knit? 

Randolph  felt  it  all :  but  the  reporters  were  liv- 
ing rowels  to  his  determination ;  the  lawyers  with 
their  doubtful  faces — tonic;  while  Lettice  and 
Charlotte  threw  to  him  ropes  of  confidence  from 


A  MAN'S  REACH  269 

Laneville  and  from  Laurel  Street.  His  world 
would  know  to-morrow  that  "  he  that  was  dead  is 
risen  again  " — at  last  he  had  gotten  a  chance !  He 
was  a  fearless  matador  teasing  the  stubborn  bull 
— public  opinion:  twisting  twelve  stalwart  farm- 
ers to  his  way  of  thinking. 

"  Look  at  the  prisoner's  face !  Is  he  a  mur- 
derer, or  a  simple-hearted  old  baby,  already  be- 
holding the  Paradise  of  his  crude  faith?  Look 
at  his  distorted,  knotty  feet !  Are  they  strong  to 
plunge  through  the  rough  darkness  of  three  long 
miles?  Look  at  his  crumpled  hands!  Are  they 
able  to  strike  the  blade  true  in  the  neck  of  a  woman 
whose  hands  could  master  him?  How  far  had 
old  Jacob  been  from  his  cabin  this  whole  winter  ? 
Not  one  hundred  yards." 

As  Randolph  pleaded  for  Jacob,  he  pleaded 
with  himself  for  himself. 

"  A  lonely  sufferer  spends  his  long  days  in  a 
humble  shanty,  but  neither  hunger  nor  thirst  nor 
cold  assail  him — why?  Because  Jacob  for  years 
and  years  was  a  good  citizen,  and  the  good  citi- 
zens of  Chesterfield  County  do  not  forget  good 
citizens.  They  remember  with  gratitude  the  good 
deeds  of  Jacob  when  he  was  strong.  Jacob  dug 
their  garden  beds,  Jacob  planted  their  corn,  Jacob 
was  no  eye-servant  but  did  what  his  hands  could 
do  with  all  his  might.  Is  not  this  true — citizens 
of  Chesterfield?  Of  Sunday  afternoons  young 


270  A  MAN'S  REACH 

Chesterfield  girls  sing  along  the  road  with  baskets 
in  their  hands — where  are  they  going?  To  carry 
a  part  of  their  dinner  to  old  Jacob  Spurlark. 
Matrons  of  Chesterfield,  we  meet,  with  Bibles  in 
their  hands.  Where  are  they  going?  To  read 
to  old  Jacob  Spurlark.  Does  Jacob  come  to  them  ? 
Oh,  no,  he  cannot  walk  a  quarter  of  a  mile  on 
account  of  rheumatism — how  could  he  walk  three 
miles  to  Mrs.  Saddler's  house?  Has  any  citizen 
of  Chesterfield  seen  old  Jacob  with  a  horse  in  the 
last  ten  years?  Would  any  citizen  of  Chester- 
field County  have  been  so  considerate  as  to  have 
taken  old  Jacob  these  three  miles,  for  Jacob  to 
have  thrust  a  deadly  blade  in  Mrs.  Saddler's 
throat? 

"  Young  girls  of  Chesterfield,  who  share  your 
dainty  food  with  the  prisoner — did  he  kill  Mrs. 
Saddler?  Matrons  who  read  the  Word  of  God  to 
old  Jacob  Spurlark — did  he  kill  Mrs.  Saddler? 
Men,  who  say  to-day,  nobody  to  prune  our  trees, 
and  clean  our  wells,  or  shear  our  sheep  as  well  as 
Jacob  Spurlark— did  he  kill  Mrs.  Saddler?" 

Randolph  seemed  to  pause  for  an  answer. 

"  In  this  audience  is  a  citizen  of  Chesterfield 
with  palsied  hands  and  snowy  hair.  It  was  many 
years  ago  that  he  had  a  fine,  handsome  boy.  That 
boy  one  day  went  out  on  a  mill-pond  fishing: 
Jacob  Spurlark,  not  old  and  feeble  but  strong 


A  MAN'S  REACH  «71 

and  active  then,  went,  too,  that  day  to  the  mill  on 
that  pond  carrying  corn  to  grind. 

"  The  boat  with  the  boy  capsized ;  the  boy  could 
not  swim  and  the  pond  was  deep.  Who  saved  the 
boy?  Surely  there  are  people  in  this  room  be- 
sides the  father  of  the  boy,  who  remember  the 
heroism  of  Jacob  that  day.  And  yet  in  his  trem- 
bling, weak  old  days  he  turned  a  murderer.  Im- 
possible! There  are  witnesses  here  who  have 
sworn  that  they  saw  Jacob  in  the  woods,  creeping 
towards  Mrs.  Saddler's.  Are  these  witnesses  still 
sure  and  certain  of  the  accuracy  of  their  deposi- 
tions? This  is  between  them  and  their  God. 
There  is  another  witness  that  saw  old  Jacob  enter 
Mrs.  Saddler's  house.  Are  you  still  sure  of  the 
truth  of  your  assertion? 

"  Who  killed  Mrs.  Saddler?  "  A  fearful  accus- 
ing pause. 

"  Who  killed  Mrs.  Saddler?  Old  Jacob  Spurlark 
did  not  do  it — who  did  ?  " 

One  of  the  witnesses  twisted,  trembled,  and 
finally  fell  into  a  hysterical  heap  on  the  floor. 

Old  Jacob  was  acquitted;  the  fighting  Greeks 
a  step,  Mandy — a  step,  old  Jacob — a  step  on  the 
long  ladder  of  reinstatement  in  the  mazy  laby- 
rinth of  public  opinion! 

The  taste  of  appreciation  and  praise  was  sweet 
to  Randolph's  hungry  soul :  he  was  like  an  ox  that 
had  been  grazing  in  parched  pastures  while  a 


272  A  MAN'S  REACH 

field  of  succulent  corn  was  growing  just  over  a 
high  fence.  Now  he  had  leaped  the  fence  and 
filled  his  empty  stomach  ^with  the  long  sweet 
blades  and  the  juicy  ears. 

Two  days  after  the  acquittal  of  old  Jacob  he 
received  a  telegram  from  Lettice  Corbin.  The 
"  rural-deliverer  "  was  still  slow  and  she  had  wired 
as  soon  as  the  news  reached  her. 

The  satisfaction  of  Charlotte  Turberville  was 
restrained.  She  had  to  contemplate  her  joy  a 
long  time  before  she  realized  it ;  as  a  turkey  hen 
looks  and  looks  at  a  plump  grain  before  she 
decides  to  pick  it  up. 

Randolph's  state  of  mind  was  peculiar :  he  was 
afraid,  and  humble,  and  yet  he  rejoiced.  Like  a 
baby  who  finds  that  she  can  step  across  the  nursery 
floor  all  by  herself,  he  wanted  to  keep  on  doing  it. 
He  almost  wished  that  somebody  would  commit 
murder  every  day — that  he  might  defend  the  mur- 
derer. Nothing  especially  exciting  happened  for 
several  months,  but  he  was  slowly  getting  up  the 
stair  of  life  by  way  of  commonplace  practice, 
invitations  from  prominent  people,  and  long  walks 
with  Robert  Catlett. 

Catlett  was  preaching  a  series  of  sermons  that 
had  received  much  adverse  criticism,  and  the  last 
of  the  series  from  the  text — "  She  Was  a  Sinner  " 
— drew  fierce  open  letters  to  the  columns  of  the 
newspapers. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  27S 

The  meaning  of  this  discourse  of  the  young 
rector  of  the  Holy  Comforter  was  intensely 
obvious  from  start  to  finish.  In  conclusion  he 
had  said  with  unrestrained  feeling :  "  My  friends, 
do  you  recall  the  incident  of  the  man  going  down 
from  Jerusalem  to  Jericho — who  fell  among 
thieves?  They  stripped  him  of  his  raiment, 
wounded  him,  and  departed,  leaving  him  half 
dead.  Priest  and  Levite  passed  by  on  the  other 
side — but  thank  God  there  was  a  good  Samaritan 
who  bound  up  his  wounds,  set  him  on  his  own 
beast,  brought  him  to  an  inn,  and  took  care  of 
him. 

"  In  this  city  to-day  are  dozens  of  women  who 
have  fallen  among  thieves — naked,  more  than  half 
dead,  their  nefarious  industry  taken  from  them  by 
the  closing  of  the  red-light  district — they  are 
bewildered,  bitter,  shelterless,  literally  upon  the 
streets.  Each  of  you  to  these  wretched  sisters  can 
be  a  good  Samaritan,  can  bind  up  their  wounds, 
and  bring  them  to  an  inn.  '  For  she  is  a  sinner,' 
and  it  was  for  sinners  that  Christ  died.  It  is  the 
sacred  duty  of  every  man  and  woman  in  this 
church  to  endeavor  to  bring  these  bleeding,  way- 
ward sisters  to  an  inn — it  is  the  Father's  business, 
and  therefore  yours!  " 

Radical  advice,  it  is  true,  and  not  exactly  pala- 
table to  the  members  of  the  congregation:  one 
of  the  vestrymen  remarked  as  he  was  going  down 
is 


274  A  MAN'S  REACH 

the  aisle  to  another  vestryman,  "  Mr.  Catlett  knows 
more  of  that  class  of  people  than  anybody  I  ever 
met!" 

Lettice  wrote  to  Randolph  about  every  four 
weeks;  that  was  often  enough  to  jerk  the  rein 
and  keep  him  in  the  road.  Her  sentiments  were 
like  flocks  of  restless  chickens  in  a  tight-barred 
coop,  and  so  were  Randolph's.  Pride  held  the  door 
to  keep  hers  in;  and  Honor  squared  its  broad 
shoulders  and  prevented  Randolph's  from  running 
out. 

The  letters  of  the  daughter  of  Laneville  piled 
the  details  of  a  free,  simple  life  upon  her  ele- 
mental emotions ;  but  the  real  heart-beats  of  Lettice 
made  the  "  pile  "  tremble,  as  the  wriggling  of  a 
mole  cracks  the  soil  under  which  it  gropes.  Some- 
times the  real  Randolph  peeped  through  the  vague- 
ness of  his  letters,  as  the  real  Lettice  flashed 
through  the  subterfuges  of  hers. 

Lettice  was  the  exteriorization  of  Virginia  aris- 
tocracy, but  her  mind  was  prophetic;  and  her 
heart  a  Socialist  if  her  nose  was  Greek.  The 
problem  of  her  class  held  her — would  it  disappear 
entirely  from  its  realm  like  the  great  sturgeon 
from  Virginia  waters?  Or  would  it  be  diluted 
or  strengthened  by  intermarriage  with  the  stranger 
or  the  middle  class?  Would  the  future  of  Vir- 
ginia rise  from  the  soil?  If  so,  must  she  not  give 
to  this  class  such  as  she  had  ?  All  of  these  subtle- 


A  MAN'S  REACH  275 

ties  she  put  in  her  letters,  and  on  the  page  which 
Randolph  now  held  in  his  hand  was 

"  These  strangers  will  never  take  root,  Ran- 
dolph— these  rich  butchers,  bakers,  candlestick- 
makers,  and  divorcees,  who  creep  into  the  old 
houses  as  they  have  crept  into  their  seal-skins 
and  limousines.  They  expect  the  blessed  old  places 
to  make  of  them  gentlemen — too  much  to  ask,  be- 
tween you  and  me — they'll  get  tired  before  they 
have  tried  long  enough,  and  return  to  their 
moving-picture,  cafe  world:  just  as  they  get  tired 
of  trying  to  like  batter-bread  and  roe-herring,  and 
go  back  to  cold  bread  and  codfish  balls." 

In  the  middle  of  this  letter  she  came  so  near  be- 
ing sentimental  that  she  quickly  scampered  off  to 
an  impersonal  anecdote.  Of  such  elusive  trifles  she 
made  her  tantalizing  letters — straws  to  show  the 
way  the  wind  did  not  blow. 

Randolph  laughed  and  sighed  over  them, 
while  his  impatient  soul  was  afraid  that  the  echo 
of  old  Jacob's  trial  would  die  before  another 
Jacob  or  Esau — he  did  not  care  which — appeared. 


XXV 

BOLINGBROKE  did  not  care  to  punish  Randolph 
a  moment  longer  than  was  necessary,  so  very  soon, 
as  in  years  past,  he  was  the  bright,  particular  star 
at  the  most  exclusive  dinner-tables. 

Lettice  Corbin  was  often  discussed  in  his  pres- 
ence, and  people  who  saw  her  at  "  Old  Point," 
New  York  and  other  places  wondered  why  she 
never  came  to  Bolingbroke.  One  evening  at  a 
large  dinner  at  the  Andersons'  somebody  an- 
nounced that  she  was  positively  engaged  to 
Macauley  Berkeley — a  rich  Bostonian.  And  the 
very  next  morning  Randolph  received  this  very 
disconcerting  letter: 

I  have  been  investigating  old  tomb-stones,  Randolph  dear, 
and  I  really  find  them  fascinating  literature.  I  have  discov- 
ered one  in  the  hollow  by  Fox-mill  run — you  remember  the 
locality  ? 

The  slab  was  covered  with  briars  which  I  painfully  re- 
moved, and  read  with  queer  sympathy,  these  lines: 

Beneath  this  stone, 

Lies  Martha  Gwyn, 
Who  burst  the  outer  shell  of  sin, 

And  found  herself  a  cherubim. 

Martha  did  just  what  I  would  like  to  do:  I  am  tired. 
I  have  got  to  go  to  the  "  White  Sulphur  "  and  I  don't  want 
to.    Ever  hear  of  Macauley  Berkeley?    He  is  the  milk-in- 
the-cocoanut 
276 


A  MAN'S  REACH  277 

I  think  silence  with  regard  to  unaccepted  suitors  should 
be  one  of  the  first  articles  of  a  girl's  creed ;  but  I  think  it 
is  necessary  for  me  to  enter  into  some  particulars  regarding 
Macauley — "perpendiculars,"  as  Uncle  Alec  calls  them. 

Macauley  is  our  cousin.  Our  great-grandmothers  were 
sisters:  his  father  was  one  of  the  Barn-Elm  Berkeleys — 
born  there.  He  was  wise  enough  to  migrate  to  Boston 
and  enlist  the  affection  of  one  of  the  Boston  Motts.  She 
rejoiced  in  many  millions  and  Macauley  is  her  only  child. 
More  than  one  child  would  be  considered  wilful  extrava- 
gance by  a  Boston  Mott.  Our  acquaintance  with  Macauley 
was  genealogical;  he  wanted  to  know  all  about  Barn-Elms 
and  the  Berkeleys — he  wanted  to  get  even  paternally  with 
the  Motts.  Papa  had  the  supply  equal  to  his  demand,  if 
demand  it  was,  for  Macauley  could  never  demand — it  would 
be  too  harsh  for  his  constitution.  Macauley  would  always 
make  a  buttered  request. 

Macauley  deserves  a  little  explanation.  In  appearance, 
waspish.  Whistler  would  have  revelled  in  his  shape. 
Dilcie  says :  "  Miss  Lettice,  'pear  to  me  Mr.  Buckly  laces 
hisself." 

I  don't  know  about  that,  but  in  every  other  respect  he 
is  exceedingly  lady-like;  I  should  call  him  a  rubber-shoe 
man ;  he  would  certainly  go  around  any  puddles  in  his  way. 
His  words  pass  his  lips  as  if  they  were  tip-toeing,  and  his 
sentences  end  just  like  he  folds  up  his  handkerchief  after 
he  uses  it.  His  waistcoats  are  wonderful.  I  never  saw 
any  like  them ;  and  his  neckties  correspond  invariably  with 
his  socks.  His  bureau  is  loaded  with  monogrammed  mys- 
teries ;  indeed,  I  believe  he  thinks  in  monograms — they  (or 
it)  are  on  everything.  Macauley  knows  a  lot,  is  terribly 
educated  and  travelled,  but  he  reads  Browning  as  if  he 
were  eating  ice-cream,  and  Shakespeare  as  if  he  were 
chewing  gum.  Randolph,  you  approach  Browning  as  if 
you  were  intoxicated,  and  I  rather  like  your  Shakespeare 
jag. 


278  A  MAN'S  REACH 

"What  in  the  devil  is  Lettice  driving  at?" 
Randolph  thought  as  he  turned  a  page. 

If  you  meet  him,  I  am  sure  you  would  know  that  he 
would  make  a  painless  if  monotonous  husband. 

"  Whose  damned  husband  does  she  mean  ?  " 
Randolph  impatiently  asked  himself. 

Macauley  never  broke  any  of  the  ten  Command- 
ments  

"  He'll  make  me  break  the  sixth  Command- 
ment, if  Lettice  don't  mind."  Randolph  scarcely 
had  patience  to  read  to  the  end  of  the  letter. 

and  never  said  "  damn  "  in  his  life.    I  am  not  going  to 

take  any  liberty  with  the  ten  Commandments,  but  I  verily 
believe,  before  a  man  is  quite  a  man,  he  has  got  to  say 
"  damn." 

Macauley  and  I  met  in  Berlin;  did  I  ever  tell  you  we 
did?  I  quickly  impressed  him,  and  he  asked  me  to  be  his 
wife.  He  asked  me  in  the  same  manner  in  which  he  folds 
his  handkerchief  above  referred  to;  his  attitude  was  timid, 
careful,  he  took  a  step  and  stopped — like  a  spavined  horse 
advancing  to  a  clump  of  clover.  He  said  he  loved  me  with 
about  as  much  snap  as  a  toy  pistol.  I  felt  as  if  he  were 
blowing  bubbles.  He  is  now  at  Laneville  reiterating  his 
oily  statements.  I  tell  you  all  this  because  papa  insists 
that  I  marry  Macauley.  He  is  so  frantic  for  me  to  do  it 
that  he  is  comparing  Macauley  with  you,  a  thing  papa  would 
never  do  unless  in  an  emergency. 

"  Emergency,  the  devil."  Randolph,  alone  in  his 
office,  got  up  and  paced  the  floor  crumpling  the  let- 
ter viciously  in  his  hand.  "  I'll  go  to  Laneville 
to-morrow,  and  ask  Lettice  to  share  the  comforts 


A  MAN'S  REACH  970 

of  our  little  gray  house.  Only  three  hours  apart 
as  the  crow  flies,  and  no  more  than  a  glimpse  of 
her  for  two  years!  With  a  spidery  millionaire 
trespassing  on  my  preserves — I'll  take  it  out  of 
father's  and  mother's  hands  as  quick  as  possible. 
I'll  claim  her  as  forfeit  for  my  regeneration  now, 
not  a  day  to  spare.  We  will  live  on  love  and  pot- 
boilers, and  snap  our  fingers  at  the  rest  of  the 
world." 

He  went  on  reading  the  letter : 

Papa  has  unburdened  his  heart  to  me,  and  God  knows 
I'd  like  to  accommodate  him.  Poor  fellow,  he  has  lost 
money;  everybody  does  sooner  or  later,  don't  they?  Then 
James  Parke  is  recalcitrant — James  Parke,  who  went  to 
Madison,  Wisconsin,  to  learn  how  to  make  Laneville  pay. 
Jimmy  has  fallen  in  love — execrable  practice — with  a  girl 
with  a  ranch — thousands  and  thousands  of  acres  of  irri- 
gated fertility,  which  she  would  not  exchange  for  all  the 
history  and  romance  of  Laneville,  and  Jimmy  has  decided 
that  he  don't  care  especially  for  Laneville  either,  but  pre- 
fers to  ranch  it  with  Evangeline  Holdsclaw. 

There's  no  accounting  for  taste,  and  Jimmy's  taste  has 
upset  papa  dreadfully.  Henry  always  vowed  he  didn't  want 
an  acre  of  Laneville,  and  that  he  had  no  idea  of  sacri- 
ficing his  life  to  the  weather  and  the  negroes :  so  there's 
nobody  else  but  me.  And  I  can't  have  it  unless  I  can  find 
some  money  to  go  with  it,  and  Macauley  has  the  money. 

"  If  she  wants  the  varmint,  let  her  have  him!  " 
Randolph  fairly  hissed. 

Papa  has  been  awfully  plain.  He  says  there's  only 
one  thing  in  Macauley's  way,  and  that  is  you.  He  has 


£80  A  MAN'S  REACH 

given  me  his  views  on  you  pretty  plainly,  and  that  is  why 
I  speak  so  frankly. 

I  have  been  intensely  obdurate.  Papa  asked  me  if  I 
wrote  to  you — I  told  him.  He  requested  me  not  to  write 
to  you  again  for  six  months.  I  would  not  promise. 

Randolph  crumpled  up  the  letter  again  and 
kissed  it  this  time. 

He  says  you  are  fooling  me  as  many  a  dissipated  man 
has  fooled  other  girls. 

"  An  old  sucker.9'  Randolph  clenched  his  teeth 
and  read  on. 

I  told  him  you  were  not  dissipated,  fiercely. 

"  God  bless  you."    Now  Randolph  smiled. 

He  smiled.  Oh,  the  irony  of  an  irate  father's  smile. 
He  said  a  six  months'  silence  on  my  part  would  prove  it 
I  answered,  "  Then  I'll  prove  it  after  one  letter."  Now  I 
am  miserable.  I  don't  know  whether  to  take  it  back  or  not. 
You  and  your  letters  versus  the  White-Sulphur  and 
Macauley :  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  I  shall  be  in  Boling- 
broke  on  the  ten-thirty  train  next  Wednesday.  Meet  me. 
Don't  fail. 

It  is  only  to  see  how  you  look,  to  touch  your  hand, 
to  hear  a  voice  silent  for  me  over  a  year — a  long  time 
when  the  voice  is  one  I  love  to  hear.  No  matter  who  is 
with  me — come!  There  will  be  few  words — only  the  joy 
of  a  look — I  need  it.  My  courage  dips  daily.  I  must  have 
tonic.  I  don't  know  what  you  think  of  me,  rather  obvious 
like  the  pink  and  blue.  I  can't  help  it — I  am  sincere. 

My  experiment  in  the  Laneville  library  told  you  every- 
thing— what's  left  to  be  said? 

At  ten-thirty  on  Wednesday. 

Faithfully  yours, 

L.  P.  C 


A  MAN'S  REACH  281 

"  To-morrow  at  ten-thirty  Lettice  would  be  in 
Bolingbroke?  With  Macauley  Berkeley?  Damn 
Macauley  Berkeley!  Lettice  in  Bolingbroke  to- 
morrow ! " 

Randolph  did  not  mention  the  letter  to  his 
mother,  but  strangely  that  very  evening  she  talked 
as  if  she  had  read  it. 

"  Isn't  it  almost  time  to  go  for  Lettice,  Son- 
Boy?  "  she  asked.  "  Youth  is  the  time  for  loving 
— you  know." 

"  I  know,  mumsey." 

Randolph  got  closer  to  his  mother  and  took  her 
hand.  He  wanted  to  tell  of  the  letter,  but  he 
still  felt  its  meaning  too  keenly  for  words.  The 
lights  in  the  Park  hung  like  low  moons,  and  be- 
neath the  children  were  singing  in  piercing  fal- 
setto, "  Tisket-tasket,  red  and  yellow  basket," 
people  walked  the  summer  street  slowly,  and  the 
trolley — every  few  moments — put  a  full  stop  to 
conversation. 

"  You  loved  to  play  in  the  Park,  and  I  want 
your  children  to  play  there,  too." 

From  sacred  sentiment  the  talk  of  mother  and 
son  turned  to  the  gossip  of  the  town:  the  last 
engagement,  the  hopeless  illness  of  the  Governor's 
son,  and  Robert  Catlett's  efforts  to  get  up  a  peti- 
tion for  the  release  of  a  negro  convict  whom  he 
thought  had  been  unjustly  sentenced.  It  was  past 
twelve  o'clock  when  Randolph  got  in  bed — really 


282  .A  MAN'S  REACH 

Wednesday — the  day  that  Lettice  would  come. 

His  sleep  was  gossamer  painted  with  dreams. 
Once  he  was  at  the  station — no  Lettice,  no 
Corbins,  nobody :  then  he  was  wrestling  with  Mr. 
Corbin  for  Lettice:  and  last  he  and  Lettice  were 
in  a  cab  alone,  she  saying  over  and  over  again — 
"  My  brand  new  Ran,  my  brand  new  Ran!  "  The 
words  created  a  swarm  of  real  fireflies  in  the  taxi. 
They  blinded  Lettice  and  she  hid  her  face  on 
Ran's  shoulder.  "What  are  they?"  Ran  asked 
loudly.  "  The  sentiments  of  a  human  soul,"  a 
small  voice  answered.  "  Love  broken  into  bits 
of  moving  gold." 

Suddenly  a  terrible  raucous  yell  tore  Lettice 
from  Randolph's  dream-arms.  Was  he  awake  or 
asleep  ? 

"E-X-T-R-A-!  E-X-T-R-A-A-A  L-E-A-D-E-R-R-R ! 
E-X-T-R-A  L-E-A-D-E-R-R-R!  E-X-T-R-A-A.  E-X- 
T-R-A-A-A  ! " 

Randolph  was  wide  awake ;  the  noise  was  away 
beyond  his  dreams.  It  was  the  cry  of  a  frantic 
new  day,  the  fore- word  of  calamity  or  death. 

"  E-X-T-R-A-L-E-A-D-E-R-R-R !  " 

Randolph  caught  a  name  yelled  by  the  newsy 
with  fearful  emphasis;  he  jumped  from  his  bed, 
rushed  to  his  window,  raised  it,  screamed  "  Boy ! 
Boy !  "  and  ran  down  to  the  front  door  to  receive 
the  extra,  which  he  grabbed  viciously  but  did  not 
unfold  until  he  got  back  in  his  own  room.  Then 


A  MAN'S  REACH  283 

he  only  read  the  headlines — he  could  stand  no 
more.  In  an  agony  of  vengeance  he  twisted  the 
newspaper  into  a  tight  rope,  threw  it  in  a  corner 
t>f  his  room,  and  flung  himself  on  his  bed,  with 
a  groan.  "  How  could  God  have  rewarded  his 
young  prophet  with  such  a  stab?  Oh,  God!  Oh, 
God!" 

Simon  came  up  as  usual  at  a  quarter  to  eight 
with  the  morning  paper,  but  Randolph  did  not 
touch  it  till  he  was  ready  to  go  down,  then  he 
picked  it  up  as  if  it  were  a  snake. 

"  What  in  the  world  is  all  this  about?  "  His 
mother  met  him  in  the  upper  hall.  "  Something 
dreadful?" 

Randolph  was  trying  to  tell  her,  when  the  door- 
bell pealed,  and  Simon  announced  Dr.  Roslyn,  the 
senior  warden  of  the  Holy  Comforter. 

"  Where  did  such  a  lie  come  from  ?  "  Randolph, 
much  excited,  ran  down  quickly.  Dr.  Roslyn  was 
standing  in  the  hall  with  a  newspaper  in  his  hand. 
Randolph,  without  a  word,  led  the  way  to  the 
library,  where  Charlotte  joined  them. 

Dr.  Roslyn  spread  the  newspaper  on  the  table 
and  tapped  the  headlines  firmly  with  his  open 
palm.  "  Robert  Catlett,  rector  of  the  Holy  Com- 
forter, at  about  two  o'clock  this  morning  shot  and 
instantly  killed  Kitty  Nestles,  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  and  notorious  women  of  the  underworld, 


884  A  MAN'S  REACH 

in  his  own  library  in  the  rectory,  at  Ninth  and 
Peace  Streets." 

"  It's  a  lie !  "  Randolph's  voice  trembled. 

"  It  is  not,"  the  senior  warden  answered,  and 
proceeded  to  read  the  sensational  account  with 
deliberation  and  occasional  emphasis : 

"  At  two  o'clock  this  morning  a  convivial  party 
in  the  Bolingbroke  Hotel,  just  opposite  the 
rectory  of  the  Holy  Comforter,  was  startled  by 
two  pistol  shots.  The  rectory  windows  were  open 
and  this  party  distinctly  saw  the  rector  place  a 
smoking  pistol,  which  he  held  in  his  hand  for  a 
second  or  two  after  the  shooting,  on  the  window 
ledge,  and  then  turn  and  kneel  before  something 
on  the  floor.  Two  members  of  this  party  ran  to 
the  rectory,  through  the  front  door,  which  was 
not  locked,  upstairs.  On  the  floor  of  the  rector's 
study  was  the  form  of  a  beautiful  woman  and  zig- 
zagging over  her  white  shirt-waist  was  a  stream 
of  blood.  A  packet  of  letters  lay,  half-burnt,  on 
the  hearth.  Robert  Catlett  was  at  the  'phone: 
'  Gentlemen,'  was  his  quiet  greeting,  *  the  police 
will  be  here  in  a  moment  take  a  seat,  etc.,  etc., 
etc/  " 

When  Dr.  Roslyn  had  finished  reading,  he 
added :  "  I  have  been  with  Catlett  for  hours,  and 
he  sent  me  for  you.  I  should  tell  you,  I  suppose, 
Randolph,  that  Catlett  had  a  mad  idea  of  your 
defending  him  without  any  other  legal  assistance. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  S85 

We  could  not  allow  that,  of  course,  but  Catlett 
insists  upon  your  being  retained  as  associate  coun- 
sel. I  trust  that  you  are  fully  sensible  of  the  grav- 
ity and  responsibility  of — of "  Dr.  Roslyn 

blew  his  nose. 

Randolph  paced  the  floor  for  some  minutes 
without  speaking,  and  when  his  mother  and  her 
old  friend  took  up  the  conversation,  he  went  to 
the  dining-room  and  bowed  his  head  upon  the 
breakfast  table:  "Robert  Catlett,  Robert  Catlett, 
Bill-Bob,"  he  sobbed.  "  Honest,  earnest,  merry 
Bill-Bob!"  He  raised  his  head.  "Rot!  He 
never  did  it!  But  in  his  despair  he  remembered 
me,  tried  to  push  me  along  with  his  dilemma, 
showed  his  faith  in  the  man  he  helped  to  make — 
and  I'll  stand  by  you  old  fellow  to  the  end!  I 
can  hear  his  very  thoughts,  '  I'll  help  Turberville. 
I'll  show  him  how  I  believe  in  him.  I'll  trust  him 
with  my  life.'  And  you  can  trust  me,  Bill-Bob. 
I'll  show  the  whole  world  how  impossible  it  was 
for  you  to  do  it." 

Randolph  could  only  swallow  a  cup  of  coffee, 
and  then  he  and  Dr.  Roslyn  walked  over  to  Wide 
Street,  and  took  the  car  to  the  city  jail.  The 
doctor  never  ceased  talking,  but  Randolph  did  not 
hear  half  he  said.  He  was  reading  the  wretched 
headlines  "  alluring,  enticing,  beautiful,  young,  a 
ward  of  his  parents,  the  aesthetic  and  ascetic 
clergyman  had  always  loved  her,  but  when  she 


£88  A  MAN'S  REACH 

thrust  herself  between  him  and  his  duties  and  per- 
sisted in  claiming  him,  he  lost  self-control  and 
ended  her  poisonous  life."  These  words  flamed 
in  another  extra  which  Randolph  purchased  in 
the  car. 

Randolph  remembered  that  Catlett  went  to  see 
Kitty,  that  he  was  a  man,  that — that — "  he  is 
the  one  man  on  earth  upon  whose  innocence  I'd 
stake  my  soul,"  he  suddenly  and  with  indignation 
blurted  out  to  the  crowded  and  excited  street  car. 
"  Bill-Bob  couldn't  help  being  all  right,  if  he  tried 
not  to.  If  all  the  twelve  Apostles  swore  that 
they  saw  him  shoot  Kitty  Nestles,  I'd  prove  them 
a  pack  of  liars." 

"  There  were  only  eleven  Apostles  constant, 
you  know."  Dr.  Roslyn's  face  wore  a  deprecat- 
ing look;  it  never  would  have  done  for  such  a 
wild  fellow  as  Turberville  to  have  been  anything 
but  associate  counsel. 

"  I  don't  care  a  hoot  how  many  they  were ;  but 
even  if  they  accused  Robert  Catlett,  I'd  show 
them  a  thing  or  two." 

The  car  stopped.  Randolph  Turberville  left 
Dr.  Roslyn — who  would  be  back  later — and 
walked  alone  to  Catlett's  cell  in  the  city  jail. 


XXVI 

THE  pinched  gloom  of  a  felon's  cell  threw  into 
high  relief  the  young  beauty  of  Robert  Catlett's 
face:  white,  haggard,  unafraid,  it  was  as  start- 
ling as  the  image  of  a  marble  saint  on  a  reeking 
dunghill.  The  situation  for  a  moment  stunned 
this  stricken  friendship,  this  wounded  Damon  and 
Pythias.  They  grasped  hands  with  voices  clotted 
with  emotion. 

Catlett  spoke  first :  "  I  didn't  shoot  Kitty,  Ran." 

"  No."  Randolph's  negation  was  a  passionate 
outburst. 

"She  killed  herself,  Ran."  Catlett's  voice 
trembled  with  compassion.  "  Poor  creature,  I 
tried  to  stop  her,  but  I  was  not  quick  enough." 

"  Why  did  she  kill  herself,  Bill-Bob?  " 

The  old  name  touched  him  more  than  any  word 
spoken  since  the  sudden  tragedy  of  the  early  morn- 
ing. Catlett  closed  his  eyes  and  pressed  his  lips 
together :  "  Turberville,  for  what  does  such  a 
woman,  generally,  kill  herself?" 

"  Tell  me  everything,  old  man !  " 

Robert  Catlett  was  always  concise  and  direct: 
he  wasted  no  words  either  on  the  street  or  in  the 
pulpit.  "  It  is  a  short  story,"  he  began.  "  I 
always  sit  up  late,  and  the  front  door  is  never 

187 


288  A  MAN'S  REACH 

locked;  from  force  of  habit,  maybe,  country- 
people,  you  know,  never  lock  their  front  doors. 
About  one  o'clock  Kitty,  with  the  slyness  and 
softness  of  a  cat,  stole  up  to  my  study.  She 
startled  me,  I  must  confess.  She  wanted  what 
she  had  promised  never  to  touch  again.  She  made 
a  pitiful  appeal  with  a  faint  tinge  of  logic  in  it. 
She  was  very  desperate.  She  thought  she  had  a 
mortgage  on  a  man's  flesh  and  she  wanted  the 
interest,  pound  for  pound.  I  tried  to  show  her 
that  the  mortgage  was  lifted,  for  just  two  weeks 
ago  I  had,  with  my  own  hands,  given  her  a  hand- 
some sum  for  relinquishment.  She  listened,  im- 
patiently, like  some  quivering  beast  who  had  lost 
a  race.  Her  frenzy  gradually  faded  into  despair. 
I  talked  to  her  as  gently  as  I  could,  assured  her 
that  I  would  always  help  her  as  far  as  possible,  and 
that  I  thought  I  knew  people  who  would  help  her 
to  find  another  life.  I  showed  her  the  ruin  she 
had  wrought  and  endeavored  to  convince  her  that 
the  only  way  to  repair  it  was  in  absolute  self- 
denial  and  a  sincere  effort  to  pursue  a  legitimate 
energy.  I  used  in  argument  the  youth  and  weak- 
ness of  the  man  she  loved — I  believe  it  was  the 
real  thing,  Ran,  as  tragic  and  unhappy  as  it  was. 
Passion  was  smouldering  like  a  bed  of  dying  coals. 
I  actually  thought  I  saw  God  break  on  her  face. 
She  really  seemed  to  be  listening,  thinking,  when 
• — like  a  fearful  S,  O.  S.  upon  a  smoother  sea — 


A  MAN'S  REACH  288 

she  shrieked, '  I  can't,  I  can't,  I  can't! '  and  before 
I  could  reach  her,  Ran,  she  had  ripped  the  pistol 
out  and  it  was  done — that  is  all  that  I  can  tell !  " 

"  But  the  man,  Ran,  the  scoundrel,  I  must  know 
all  about  him.  You  shall  not  ruin  yourself  to 
save  him." 

For  a  fleeting  moment  a  light  broke  on  Robert 
Catlett's  face.  "  He'll  tell,"  he  whispered.  Then 
with  strange  compassion,  "  Don't  judge  him  too 
harshly,  Ran;  remember  Kitty  was — was — never 
mind,  that  is  all  over  now." 

Catlett,  during  this  dramatic  interview,  never 
budged  an  inch  from  his  original  reticence  re- 
garding the  man's  identity. 

"  Maybe,  you  will  do  for  the  other  lawyers 
what  you  refuse  to  do  for  me,  Bill-Bob." 

"Never,"  said  Catlett  firmly.  "I  have  said 
what  I  have  said." 

Randolph  took  out  his  watch,  and  timidly,  as 
if  his  words  were  almost  profane  at  such  a  time, 
whispered :  "  Lettice  Corbin  is  passing  through 
town  to-day,  and  I  am  going  to  run  down  to  the 
station  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her:  I  am  coming 
back,  old  boy." 

"  Life  is  so  full  of  queer  things — to  think  of 
Lettice  coming  to  Bolingbroke  to-day!  Did  you 
know  that  I  loved  Lettice  once,  Ran?  " 

Turberville,  almost  as  startled  as  he  was  by  the 

19 


290  A  MAN'S  REACH 

death  of  Kitty  Nestles,  gasped,  "  No,  I  never 
dreamed  of  such  a  thing." 

"  Always  so  heavenly  kind  and  frank."  Cat- 
lett's  words  were  set  in  a  faint  minor  key.  "  She 
told  me  from  the  very  first  that  my  case  was  hope- 
less and  that  no  other  man  had  even  slightly 
touched  her  heart  but  you.  I  told  her  I  would 
not  stand  it — not  her  indifference  to  me  but  her 
affection  for  you.  I  told  her  that  it  was  sacrilege 
for  you  to  dare  to  love  her  and  hurt  her  as  you 
were  doing.  *  Don't  abuse  him,  Bill-Bob/  she 
pleaded  with  her  rare,  incomparable  sweetness, 
' but  help  me  to  save  him.'  '  Save  him  for  you?' 
I  asked.  '  Yes/  so  earnestly,  I  can  see  the  prayer 
of  her  eyes  now,  Ran." 

Turberville  could  not  speak ;  he  actually  forgot 
that  time  was  going,  and  ten-thirty  drawing  dan- 
gerously near. 

"  I  have  always  been  fond  of  doing  hard  things, 
Ran,  but  the  hardest  task  I  ever  attempted  was 
to  try  to  save  you  for  Lettice :  to  relinquish  Letticc 

to  you.  Tell  her  to-day,  Ran — that — that " 

Catlett's  voice  choked.  "  Oh,  well,  I  can't  talk 
freely  to-day,  Ran,  but  you  are  going  to  manage 
my  case  so  well  that  there  will  no  longer  be  any 
doubt  of  your  superlative  ability — I  am  going  to 
make  it  easy  for  you  to  marry  Lettice  Corbin." 

Randolph  Turberville  took  Robert  Catlett  in  his 
arms,  hugged  him  as  a  mother  might  hold  her 


A  MAN'S  REACH  291 

little  boy,  and  tried  to  speak.  He  could  not,  and 
the  silence  was  majestic,  stupendous. 

"  Do  one  other  thing  for  me,  Bill-Bob,  one  more 
to  add  to  the  rest — tell  me  the  name  of  the  man 
that  Kitty  Nestles  loved.  If  you  say  so,  I'll  never 
breathe  his  name,  but  I  can  work  better  if  you 
will  tell  me." 

"  He  will  tell,  Ran,  if  we  give  him  time — I'm 
sure  he  will,  and  that  will  be  better.  Go  on,  Ran, 
and  do  your  best  with  what  you  have.  I've  told 
you  all  I  can.  It  couldn't  have  happened  at  a 
worse  time  for  me.  The  '  Good-Air-Home  '  case 
comes  up  to-morrow — I  should  certainly  be  there. 
I  promised  poor  old  Mr.  Thomson  to  play  checkers 
with  him  to-night;  he  can't  live  long — cancer  on 
the  face.  To-morrow  is  Saturday  and  I  know 
Jim  Dutton  will  get  drunk  without  our  regular 
week-end  supper." 

"  I'll  manage  Jim  Dutton,"  Randolph  replied 
brusquely. 

He  met  Mr.  Didlake,  a  member  of  the  vestry 
of  the  Holy  Comforter,  as  he  went  out,  and  they 
walked  to  the  street  car  together.  Mr.  Didlake 
was  eager  to  know  everything;  what  Catlett  said, 
how  he  looked — and  so  forth. 

"  I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  go  in,"  he 
said.  "  I  have  never  put  my  foot  inside  the  door 
of  a  jail — and  what's  more,  I  never  intend  to. 
This  is  an  awful  reflection  on  our  church,  Tur- 


t92  A  MAN'S  REACH 

berville — most  unfortunate.  Mr.  Catlett's  life  has 
seemed  exemplary — as  far  as  anybody  knew.  But 
this  is  a  black  situation,  eye-witnesses,  no  guess- 
work whatever  it  would  seem!  I  have  always 
regretted  Mr.  Catlett's  idiosyncrasies :  he  under- 
took such  preposterous  things;  you  can't  touch 
pitch  and  not  be  defiled.  He  certainly  affected 
degenerate  girls  and  got  himself  all  mixed  up  in 
that  '  Good- Air-Home.'  What  business  was  that 
of  our  rector?  I  detest  this  modern  way  of  mix- 
ing up  with  all  sorts  of  people:  foreign  m^sions 
are  safest,  anyhow.  I  like  the  old-fashioned  way 
of  minding  your  own  business.  What  business  has 
the  rector  of  the  Holy  Comforter  with  juvenile 
courts,  politics,  or  the  Red  Light  district?  He 
meddled  with  the  last  too  much  for  his  own  good. 
I  really  suspect  that  he  leans  to  Woman  Suffrage, 
and,  of  course,  when  a  clergyman  forsakes  his 
legitimate  business  to  fight  wind-mills,  such  as 
fallen  women,  degenerates,  crooked  politics,  we 
feel  that  he  is  very  near  the  edge  of — of " 

"  Trne  religion,"  Randolph  snapped  viciously. 

Mr.  Didlake  was  astonished,  but  proceeded 
unctuously  to  defend  himself :  "  I  don't  pretend 
to  deny  that  Mr.  Catlett  is  an  eloquent  speaker, 
but— but " 

"  He  upsets  one  of  your  fundamental '  articles  ' 
that  the  Episcopal  Church  neither  meddles  with 
politics  nor  religion."  Randolph  lifted  his  hat,  and 


A  MAN'S  REACH  293 

jumped  on  the  car  for  the  C.  and  O.  Station ;  he 
had  so  little  time  that  he  was  afraid  to  trust  to 
making  the  "  Southern  "  before  the  train  arrived. 
His  watch  was  too  slow,  and  when  he  reached 
the  C.  and  O.  the  train  bearing  the  Corbins  and 
Macauley  Berkeley  had  pulled  out  just  five  min- 
utes ago  by  the  clock. 

Macauley  Berkeley  had  no  original  personality, 
but  he  was  a  faithful  copy  of  a  perfectly  correct 
young  gentleman,  and  as  otherwise  fools  are  fre- 
quently bridge-friends,  so  was  Macauley,  in  other 
respects  commonplace  and  stereotyped,  a  genius 
for  the  reading  of  faces. 

He  felt,  resentfully,  the  expectancy  on  the  face 
of  Lettice  as  the  train  approached  Bolingbroke: 
he  saw  the  fearful  collapse  of  her  anticipation,  the 
futile  search  of  her  eye  the  moment  of  their 
arrival  at  the  Southern  Station,  the  play  of  her 
interest  on  the  street  as  their  "  taxi "  hurried  to 
the  C.  and  O.  Station — the  Southern  train  was  as 
usual  late — and  the  death  of  her  hope  as  their 
train  departed  westward. 

**  For  whom  was  she  looking?  Man  or  woman? 
Would  a  woman  ever  look  for  another  woman 
with  such  pungent  interest?"  Macauley  was 
somewhat  disconcerted. 

The  first  clamor  of  the  morning  newsies  was 
over,  but  Macauley  before  boarding  the  train  had 


294  A  MAN'S  REACH 

purchased  four  copies  of  the  Times-Dispatch. 
Afterward  the  Corbin  party  remembered  that 
there  was  some  excitement  among  the  passengers 
on  the  Southern,  but  they  had  been  too  much  ex- 
hausted by  their  midnight  start  from  Laneville 
to  pay  much  attention  to  it. 

Just  before  the  train  reached  Acca  station  the 
whole  car  was  startled  by  a  shrill  ejaculation 
from  Lettice.  Her  voice  had  harked  back  to  its 
old  intensive  pitch.  For  the  first  time  in  years, 
she  lost  hold  of  herself. 

"  That's  the  reason  Randolph  did  not  come," 
went  crystal  clear  from  one  end  of  the  coach  to 
the  other,  and  drew  the  attention  of  the  crowd 
to  the  blue-lipped  girl  with  closed  eyes,  whose 
head  had  fallen  back  on  the  clean  linen  of  the 
Pullman  chair. 

The  rest  of  the  car  had  read  about  the  murder 
earlier  in  the  day;  its  first  surprise  and  commen- 
tary were  over,  but  the  first  agony  and  astonish- 
ment of  the  Corbins  were  awful. 

"  I  feel  as  if  we  should  go  straight  back,"  Mrs. 
Corbin  mumbled. 

"  Please  let's "  Intensive  shrillness  had 

lowered  to  the  quavering  weakness  of  an  invalid. 

"  The  further  we  get  away  from  such  a  loath- 
some incident  the  better,"  was  Mr.  Corbin's  fiat. 

"  One  never  knows  who  is  inwardly  clean." 
Macauley's  words  minced  like  ladies'  slippers. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  205 

Lattice  could  only  give  him  a  contemptuous 
glance. 

Three  of  the  party  discussed  the  awful  affair 
in  all  its  bearings:  the  fourth  did  not  open  her 
lips  until  her  father  ominously  remarked :  "  I  have 
always  felt  that  hideous  things  should  never  be 
stirred  up  more  than  absolutely  necessary.  It  is 
like  taking  a  silver  spoon  and  digging  into  the 
very  depths  of  a  coffee  boiler:  up  to  the  nice, 
clear  top — the  very  top,  mind  you — come  the  thick 
black  grounds.  I  like  the  coffee  clear;  I  dislike 
to  see  the  thick,  black  grounds  on  the  top.  Let 
them  stay  where  they  should  be!  Poor  Catlett 
had  very  exalted  notions,  but  at  the  bottom  he  was 
like  other  men,  we  see." 

"  Hush !  "  The  voice  of  Lettice  was  stronger, 
and  Macauley  Berkeley  wondered  if  it  was  Robert 
Catlett  for  whom  she  looked  this  morning. 

Through  the  warm  August  day  the  C.  and  O. 
train  crawled  toward  the  Blue-Ridge :  Lettice  was 
leagues  and  leagues  behind  the  panting  car,  worlds 
above  the  inanities  of  a  sentimental  millionaire, 
miles  and  miles  further  up  the  slopes  of  the  spirit's 
highway  than  her  conventional  parents  would 
ever  climb  now.  Lettice  thought,  and  thought, 
wondered,  trembled,  thought  again — 

"Robert  Catlett,  dear,  devoted  Bill-Bob! 
Never,  never!  Always  the  cross,  the  crown 
of  thorns,  and  the  '  Away  with  him '  for  the 


296  A  MAN'S  REACH 

friends  of  sinners — the  sons  of  God."  Still  she 
believed  that  Bill-Bob  could  almost  kill  to  save. 
She  had,  for  years,  recoiled  from  even  the  sus- 
picion of  what  Kitty  Nestles  was.  She  could  see 
her  now  at  the  dinner  party  of  her  Christmas 
childhood ;  hear  the  boys'  comments  on  her  at  the 
Laneville  Christmas  dinner.  Beautiful,  lithe, 
seductive,  soulless;  and  Bill-Bob  trying  with  all 
his  splendid  detachment  to  save  had — lost?  "  Oh, 
God,  no,  it  could  not  be !  " 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  innocence,  purity, 
was  overshadowed  by  a  vivid  fancy  of  what  the 
momentary  madness  of  the  flesh  might  be.  It 
came  to  her  suddenly  like  a  sinister  inspiration. 
"And  Bill-Bob?  To  think  of  Bill-Bob  being— 
of  all  people  in  the  world — Bill-Bob !  "  Again 
the  frantic,  irrefrangible  refutation — "  Never, 
never,  never,  never." 

"Of  course  that  was  why  Randolph  did  not 
come.  I  wish  he  had — it  would  not  have  taken 
many  minutes,"  was  the  chorus  to  the  wild  dis- 
cord of  her  grief  and  perplexity. 

It  was  night  when  the  glad  strains  of  a  brass 
band  welcomed  the  Corbins  to  the  White  Sulphur. 
As  soon  as  Mr.  Corbin  registered,  the  clerk  handed 
him  a  telegram  addressed  to  Lettice.  Mr.  Corbin 
had  his  suspicions,  but  he  never  asked  Lettice 
a  question — and  even  Mrs.  Corbin  was  silenced 
by  the  dignity  of  the  face  of  her  daughter  as  she 


A  MAN'S  REACH  287 

tore  up  the  message  and  threw  the  scraps  in  the 
waste-basket. 

For  six  weeks  Lettice  Corbin  was  an  actress 
of  the  first  magnitude.  She  distracted  every  un- 
married man  at  the  "  White,"  and  made  the  mar- 
ried men  afraid  of  themselves. 

"  She  is  as  cold  as  poor  Scott's  ice,  and  as  dan- 
gerous as  a  forest  fire,"  one  distinguished  jurist 
said  to  a  famous  Senator,  one  morning  at  the 
spring.  Lettice  was  giving  a  benefit  performance 
under  the  trees;  six  young  swells  sat  around  her 
while  Macauley  Berkeley  stood  nearby. 

"Talking  about  the  Robert  Catlett  case,  I'll 
wager  five  to  one,"  the  Senator  observed. 

"  Not  at  all ;  she  announced  long  ago  that  she 
would  neither  listen  to  nor  speak  of  it.  It  has 
struck  me  that  she  was  in  love  with  Catlett ;  he  used 
to  go  to  Laneville  constantly,  I  am  told.  She  is 
under  high  pressure  over  something — I  can  see 
that.  She  is  acting  all  the  time ;  never  shows  one 
shadow  of  her  real  self." 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you  a  bit."  The  Senator 
was  positive,  too.  "  She  is  a  cool  philosopher — 
it's  herself  and  nobody  else.  She  is  just  the 
woman  to  marry  a  rich  ass  like  Macauley  Berkeley, 
if  a  quite  as  rich  Solomon  did  not  appear.  Petered- 
out  old  families  must  have  money  for  social 
power.  She  couldn't  love  Berkeley,  to  save  her 


298  A  MAN'S  REACH 

life,  but  she  will  be  happy  and  virtuous  with  him. 
She  don't  love  him  but  she  is  smart  enough  to 
make  people  think  she  does — at  least  some  people." 
"  She  is  about  the  most  fascinating  little  devil 
I  ever  saw."  The  Jurist  had  known  swarms  of 
charming  women.  "  And  if  she  ever  loved — 
Jerusalem !  But  she  never  will ;  men  with  millions 
rarely  have  much  else  and  Lettice  loves  the  mil- 
lions, you  bet." 


XXVII 

LIKE  Joshua's  moon  at  Ajalon,  everything, 
even  Lettice,  must  stand  aside  till  Robert  Catlett 
passed  through:  so  Randolph  folded  his  sweet- 
heart up  like  a  precious  pearl,  and  put  her  in  a 
velvet  case — the  holiest  corner  of  his  loyal  heart, 
there  to  abide  constant  and  undisturbed  till  this 
new  and  awful  tyranny  was  overpast. 

Like  the  stout  captain  of  a  man-of-war  which 
flounders  in  a  terrible  gale,  Randolph  must  leave 
everything  below,  and  stand  watchful  upon  the 
bridge  till  the  storm  is  over  and  the  ship  is  safe. 

There  was  a  grim  sort  of  pleasure  in  the  case 
for  the  young  attorney  and  he  drew  upon  all  the 
forces  of  his  teeming  mind  and  drilled  them 
day  and  night  for  the  prisoner.  His  mind  was 
full  of  little  red  foxes — darting,  restless  ideas — 
and  his  fancies  were  fox-hounds  with  strange, 
true  scent,  which  drove  the  red  foxes  to  the  open, 
for  his  judgment — master  of  hounds — to  chase 
to  the  death.  Adverse  public  sentiment,  and  the 
wild  slander  of  the  daily  press  whipped  him  to 
herculean  confidence. 

The  stricken  parents  of  Bill-Bob  laid  what 
was  left  of  pretty  Kitty  Nestles — their  half- 
sister's  child — in  a  grave  on  their  Albemarle  farm ; 

299 


300  A  MAN'S  REACH 

and  removed  themselves  and  Saint  George  to  the 
Holy  Comforter  Rectory  in  Bolingbroke,  where 
like  emaciated  pelicans  they  fed  their  shadowed 
boy  with  blood  drops  from  their  breaking  hearts. 

The  press  as  usual  was  rabid  and  boisterous, 
maintaining  that  Kitty  Nestles  had  for  months 
lived  at  the  rectory,  that  she  certainly  was  staying 
there  at  the  time  of  her  death,  as  was  evidenced 
by  her  wearing  a  pair  of  bedroom  slippers  on  the 
fatal  night;  that  the  unusual  fact  of  a  handsome 
and  merry  young  clergyman  never  affecting  the 
company  of  any  young  lady  was  entirely  accounted 
for  now — he  had  as  much  female  on  his  hands 
as  he  could  with  convenience  manage;  that  his 
sympathy  with  women  of  Kitty's  class  was  caused 
by  his  intimate  connection  with  and  his  knowledge 
of  their  strange  and  ghastly  lives. 

These  bitter  accusations  made  Randolph  gnash 
his  teeth  and  plunge  with  violence  into  the  intri- 
cate labyrinths  of  circumstantial  evidence.  He 
made  every  experience  of  his  life  a  hand-maiden 
to  his  efforts — his  fall,  his  new  birth,  his  mother, 
his  love  for  Lettice  Corbin,  Robert  Catlett — all 
joined  in  a  fiery  ring  to  help  him  to  find  the  man 
who  was  the  cause  of  Kitty  Nestles's  death.  There 
must  have  been  a  man,  Bill-Bob  had  almost 
acknowledged  that. 

Randolph  began  to  study  the  block  on  Peace 
Street,  from  Ninth  to  Eighth,  as  a  Mohammedan 


A  MAN'S  REACH  901 

studies  his  Koran — day  after  day  with  no  especial 
inspiration.  First,  there  was  the  church  with  its 
anachronistic  spire,  the  church  of  the  "  four- 
year-Republic,"  window,  pew  and  bronze  dedi- 
cated to  that  tragic  period.  There  the  President 
used  to  sit,  up  that  long  aisle  the  sexton  took  the 
tragic  note  that  paralyzed  a  nation,  from  that  cir- 
cular pulpit  a  young  Paul  of  Tarsus  preached  last 
Sunday — memory,  space,  beauty — but  not  a  whis- 
per of  the  coward  who  was  hiding  behind  Robert 
Catlett. 

Next  door  to  the  church  was  the  rectory — 
close  shut  to-day.  The  cook  was  fast  asleep  at 
the  crucial  hour  of  that  August  night:  the  man 
was  off  the  lot;  neither  knew  much  of  the  charac- 
ter of  the  rector's  visitors — they  just  came  and 
went  all  the  time.  The  cook  thought  "  they  wuz 
rich  an'  po'.  Mr.  Catlett  nuvver  said  '  no  '  to 
nobody."  If  they  rang  the  bell,  she  opened  the 
door,  but  generally  they  just  walked  in — so.  The 
man  never  remembered  seeing  a  very  pretty  lady 
there,  "  the  sort  that  came  oftenest  to  see  Mr. 
Catlett  was  mostly  old  and  pinched-like.  Mr. 
Catlett  was  always  helping  somebody — he  was 
queer  about  that:  seemed  as  he  couldn't  bear  to 
turn  nobody  down." 

Next  door  to  the  rectory  a  human  rookery — 
voluble,  bitter:  "Never  in  all  their  living  on 
Peace  Street  had  they  ever  seen  such  onnery  people 


302  A  MAN'S  REACH 

as  went  in  to  the  rectory  since  Mr.  Catlett  came. 
They  were  not  surprised  at  anything:  old  men 
with  handkerchiefs  around  their  necks  would  sit 
with  him  in  the  evening ;  boys  in  blue  flannel  shirts 
seemed  perfectly  at  home:  it  was  a  pleasure  to 
watch  the  friends  of  the  last  rector;  they  wore 
fine  clothes  and  had  beautiful  carriages  and  horses, 
and  the  rectory,  then,  was  as  nice  as  any  house 
on  West  Benjamin  Street — not  so  now.  All  the 
lower  floor  given  up  to  poor  boys  and  noisy  girls 
and  wretched  mothers  with  crying  babies !  They 
all  laughed  and  sang  and  did  most  any  old  thing 
as  soon  as  they  got  there.  Mr.  Catlett  didn't 
seem  so  bad,  but  more  like  he  was  plum  crazy. 
Of  course  if  people  had  seen  him  kill  the  woman — 
that  was  the  end  of  that." 

Nothing  very  encouraging  at  the  rookery. 

From  the  rookery  to  the  corner  were  shops — a 
beautiful  drug  store  with  bon-bons  and  perfumes 
in  the  windows;  a  pretty  cake  shop  where  pretty 
young  Jewesses  always  smiled  at  their  customers ; 
tailor  shops — one  for  ladies  and  the  other  for 
gentlemen;  above  the  shops  were  small  apart- 
ments, but  nobody  living  in  them  nor  working  in 
the  shops  had  even  heard  a  pistol  shot  the  night 
of  Kitty  Nestles's  death.  They  all  went  home  or 
to  bed  early — and  if  they  had  heard  a  dozen 
shots  they  would  never  have  connected  them  with 
Mr.  Catlett. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  80S 

On  the  corner  opposite  the  shops  stood  St. 
John's  Roman  Catholic  Cathedral.  Nobody  there 
at  night !  Next  door  the  priests'  house.  What  did 
the  priests  know?  Had  they  all  been  asleep? 
Yes,  they  were  asleep — knew  absolutely  nothing 
about  it.  From  the  priests'  house  to  the  corner 
was  the  Bolingbroke  Hotel — proud  successor  to 
the  old  St.  Claire. 

The  foremost  lawyers  of  old  Virginia  were 
retained  to  defend  Robert  Catlett — David  Tinsley, 
of  Tinsley  &  Coke;  Alfred  Lester,  of  Lester  & 
Montague;  and  William  Stanard,  who  never  in 
his  brilliant  career  had  ever  had  a  partner. 
Tinsley  and  Lester  knew  law:  Stanard  was  the 
most  effective  pleader  in  the  South,  while  Lester 
could  get  evidence  to  fit  his  case  out  of  a  turnip. 

The  prosecution  consisted  of  the  city  attorney, 
Mordecai  Cooke — a  rabid  and  successful  lawyer 
— and  his  partner,  Levi  Funkhouser,  who  would 
have  sold  his  soul  for  a  thousand  dollars. 

While  the  older  men  were  splitting  the  fine  hairs 
of  the  law,  Randolph  was  turning  his  imagination 
— like  a  stream  of  water  shot  with  a  thousand 
hues — into  every  crevice  and  crack  of  the  lives  of 
Robert  Catlett  and  Kitty  Nestles.  The  witnesses 
against  Catlett  were  making  fresh  contributions 
daily,  according  to  the  press,  they  not  only  saw 
Catlett  deliberately  kill  the  woman,  but  beheld  his 


804  A  MAN'S  REACH 

terrible  rage  as  he  pulled  his  beautiful  victim 
about,  beat  and  cuffed  her. 

Against  this  lurid  background  Robert  Catlett 
stood  in  incredible  dignity;  he  tried  not  to  wince 
even  when  he  read  an  open  letter  from  a  member 
of  his  church  demanding  "  What  will  become  of 
the  church,  of  society,  if  such  a  man  goes 
unscathed  ?  " 

In  contrast  to  this  pernicious  query  was  the 
procession  that  came  to  his  counsel  to  testify  of 
Catlett's  life.  The  Governor  of  the  State  an- 
nounced, "  I  have  put  many  of  my  burdens  on  his 
young  shoulders,  and  what  would  I  have  done 
without  him  during  the  strain  of  the  Adam  trial  ?  " 

The  Bishop  of  the  Roman  Catholic  diocese 
wished  to  do  something  to  testify  his  esteem  of 
the  accused  clergyman.  "  I  have  lived  thirty 
years  in  Rome,"  he  averred,  "  and  seen  many 
high-bred  criminals — but  none  with  an  eye  like 
Robert  Catlett's." 

The  richest  man  in  Bolingbroke,  and  not  a 
member  of  the  Holy  Comforter,  put  his  fortune 
at  Catlett's  disposal. 

But  the  poor,  the  shawled  women,  the  laboring 
men,  the  rough  boys — even  the  negroes !  They 
didn't  know  how  to  restrain  themselves :  and  they 
wept  out  what  he  had  done  for  them. 

It  was  a  mighty  experience  for  Randolph  Tur- 
berville. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  805 

He  had  his  line  of  defence  straight  as  a  shingle : 
to  much  of  it  the  older  lawyers  objected — he  held 
his  point  tenaciously.  "  I  am  going  to  depart 
somewhat  from  the  path  of  my  forefathers,"  he 
informed  his  distinguished  fellow-counsel.  "  I  am 
going  to  get  absolute  pardon  for  our  client  by  my 
imagination.  I  am  going  to  show  the  jury  exactly 
what  happened — I'm  going  to  make  them  see  it  as 
plainly  as  I  do." 

At  twilight  one  week  after  the  murder  Ran- 
dolph was  standing  just  outside  the  Bolingbroke 
Hotel  with  his  face  toward  the  rectory — thinking, 
thinking,  building  his  defence  on  the  air,  making 
bricks  without  straw — when  he  heard  a  curious 
scraping  on  the  pavement,  which  proved  to  be  the 
dragging  of  a  paralytic  limb  by  an  old,  bent  man, 
who  passed  by  toward  the  priests'  house,  stopped 
there  as  if  to  get  breath,  then  wearily  climbed 
the  steps  and  went  in. 

"  Suppose  the  old  priest  was  wakeful  at  nights ! 
Had  anybody  asked  him  what  he  knew  about 
Robert  Catlett?" 

Randolph  was  going  to  find  out,  so  every  day 
at  a  different  hour  he  walked  through  the  Capitol 
Square  with  the  hope  of  seeing  the  afflicted  old 
man.  It  was  not  long  before  he  found  out  that 
the  priest's  habit  was  to  sit  on  one  of  the  iron 
benches  in  the  Capitol  Square — near  the  Peace 
Street  gate — from  noon  till  one  oclock ;  and  again 
20 


806  A  MAN'S  BEACH 

from  four  to  five  in  the  afternoon.  Then  he  fed 
the  sparrows  and  the  squirrels,  and  gazed  dreamily 
at  the  sky  through  the  bare  November  trees. 

One  day  Randolph,  standing  near  the  quiet 
priest,  said  softly  to  himself :  "  What  an  improve- 
ment to  the  old  St.  Claire ! " 

He  was  hoping  for  a  rejoinder — it  did  not 
come.  Why  had  he  never  seen  this  priest  before? 
He  thought  he  had  interviewed  all  the  inmates 
of  the  house — why  had  this  one  escaped  him? 

The  next  day  at  noon  Randolph  entered  the 
Square  by  the  Bank  Street  gate,  threading  the 
winding  paths  to  the  old  priest's  accustomed  seat. 
It  was  a  glistening  autumn  day,  and  the  brilliant 
trees  shouted  glad  color  to  the  tranquil  sky.  Ran- 
dolph sat  on  the  bench,  his  eyes  fixed  to  the  noon 
edition  of  the  News-Leader,  and  presently  heard 
the  pitiful  scraping  of  the  worn-out  sacerdotal 
foot.  The  priest  sat  down  beside  him — a  part, 
at  least,  of  the  bench  near  the  Peace  Street  gate 
was  his  prerogative. 

In  a  moment  the  turf,  always  green,  was  cov- 
ered with  squirrels  and  sparrows,  the  former  nib- 
bling the  peanuts  which  the  priest  scattered  from 
a  bag:  the  latter  picking  the  crumbs  which  he 
broke  in  tiny  bits  from  a  stale  slice. 

Randolph  openly  admired  the  priest's  pension- 
ers, the  old  man  was  grateful  and  the  ice  was 
broken. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  307 

They  talked  first  of  squirrels  and  sparrows, 
then  of  other  animals,  and  fields  and  woods — the 
priest  was  country-bred  and  Irish. 

Finally  something  suggested  Robert  Catlett  and 
his  approaching  trial — this  brought  the  two  men 
strangely  together :  each  knew  instinctively  where 
the  heart  and  hope  of  the  other  lay. 

"  I  wish  that  house  could  talk."  The  priest 
pointed  with  his  stick  to  the  rectory.  "  Such  a 
pardon  were  never  known  if  it  could.  Fine, 
young,  Christian  gentleman — I  miss  his  cheerful 
smile,  his  daily  word  as  he  passed  by.  All  sorts 
of  people  went  to  him — from  my  little  room  at 
the  corner  there;"  he  pointed,  this  time,  to  the 
window  at  the  end  of  the  priest's  house  opposite 
the  rectory.  "  I  could  see  them  come  and  go — 
come  and  go.  Some  were  bothered — others  happy. 
I  have  laid  on  my  bed  night  after  night  and 
watched  him  talking  kindly  to  each  one  with  his 
study  window  wide  open.  He  had  no  secrets. 
Frequently  a  slim  young  man  would  be  there,  who 
always  sat  with  his  back  to  the  window :  his  hair 
was  light  and  he  parted  it  in  the  middle — from 
crown  to  brow.  I  became  interested  in  this  young 
man,  although  I  never  saw  his  face;  he  was  in 
trouble,  or— or — in — need;  well,  need  is  trouble, 
too." 

The  old  priest  was  crumbling  the  last  of  the 
slice,  and  Randolph  was  afraid  to  breathe  lest  he 


SOS  A  MAN'S  REACH 

say  no  more,  but  he  soon  began  as  if  he  were  only 
thinking : 

"  If  I  only  had  not  been  so  sick  that  night — I 
could  have  seen  it  all,  too.  I  did  see  the  woman 
come  in  about  half -after  seven — she  had  come 
from  the  train,  I  think,  for  she  had  a  satchel  in 
her  hand.  Catlett  was  not  there  and  she  went  out. 
She  returned  about  one;  I  was  in  awful  agony 
and  I  had  just  rung  for  the  nurse  who  sometimes 
helps  me,  and  who  was  with  another  priest  that 
night  who  had  pneumonia.  The  nurse  went  to 
get  me  some  aspirin — I  was  in  pain:  and  before 
she  returned  I  saw  the  woman  speaking  franti- 
cally, and  Mr.  Catlett  speaking  more  earnestly 
than  I  ever  saw  him  speak  before.  The  woman 
waved  her  hand  at  something  at  a  distance,  and 
then  pointed  to  her  shoes. 

"  This  touched  Mr.  Catlett,  and  he  went  out  and 
got  something  and  handed  it  to  her,  and  took 
up  something,  I  don't  know  what,  and  again  went 
out  of  the  room.  By  this  time  the  nurse  was 
back;  she  gave  me  the  aspirin  and  pulled  down 
my  shade.  I  soon  got  quiet  and  heard  nothing 
else — I  am  a  little  deaf — till  the  next  morning." 

A  slim  young  gentleman — Randolph  under- 
stood; gave  something  to  Kitty  and  took  some- 
thing away — Randolph  understood :  he  was  going 
to  clear  Robert  mostly  by  imagination  and  he  had 
the  whole  thing  straight  as  a  shingle  now:  his 


A  MAN'S  REACH  800 

ideas  were  in  a  strong  frame  like  tiny  bits  of 
Florentine  mosaic — he  needed  a  few  more  bits, 
he  had  gotten  them  from  the  old  priest,  and  they 
were  made  of  Albemarle  clay. 

Randolph  was  in  Robert's  cell  the  last  time  be- 
fore the  day  of  Bill-Bob's  trial — and  the  prisoner 
held  in  his  hand  a  paper  with  an  absurd  cartoon 
of  himself,  which  was  also  an  excellent  likeness. 
In  the  right  hand  of  the  cruel  cartoon  was  the 
sacred  cup,  while  in  the  left  arm  was  a  bedizened 
woman,  and  in  the  heart— exposed — a  smoking 
pistol. 

"  This  was  thrown  in,  by  permission  of  author- 
ity, of  course,  and  it  hurts :  I  wish  I  had  not  seen 
it,  for  I  may  not  be  able  to  get  rid  of  it ;  up  to  this 
moment  I  have  been  strong  enough  to  think  that 
I  could  bear  my  cross,  but  this  foolish  satire  has 
weakened  me.  It  is  beneath  the  dignity  of  the 
cloth — it  emphasizes  horribly  what  might  be  true. 
It  is  the  last  straw,  Ran ! "  Bill-Bob  could  not 
restrain  the  elemental  anguish  which  crowded  his 
narrow  cell.  "  My  gospel  was, '  He  that  was  dead 
is  risen  again,'  will  my  own  experience  entirely 
refute  it?" 


XXVIII 

THE  day  of  the  trial  opened — rain-sodden,  ill- 
omened,  dismal — gloomy  enough  to  congeal  the 
marrow  of  a  free  man's  hope.  Before  a  furious 
wind  the  gusts  of  rain  scudded  against  the  win- 
dows like  lost  tears ;  and  leafless  Bolingbroke  quiv- 
ered and  groaned  like  a  naked  child  under  a  giant's 
strokes.  Yet  the  court-house  was  packed  to  its 
breathless  capacity,  for  the  case  was  unusually 
interesting  and  had  attracted  general  attention. 
Reporters  from  the  greatest  newspapers  of  this 
country  crowded  the  space  reserved  for  the  press, 
and  the  London  Times  had  sent  over  its  own  man. 
The  details  of  the  trial  would  flash  everywhere 
simultaneously,  millions  would  daily  read  them: 
how  would  "  Randolph  Turberville  "  sound  as  it 
rang  over-world? 

Judge,  jury  and  counsel,  formidable  and  re- 
strained, walked  in  and  took  their  seats.  Robert 
Catlett  entered  with  his  parents  on  either  side  and 
his  brother,  Saint  George,  behind.  He  might 
have  been  a  modern  John  Baptist,  lean,  but  un- 
daunted, from  his  wilderness  feast :  his  mother — 
in  her  tight  little  bonnet  with  its  blighted  white 
rose — was  another  Mary  at  the  tomb:  Saint 
George  was  a  startled  plaster-of-Paris  statue; 

310 


A  MAN'S  REACH  311 

while  the  elder  Robert  Catlett  tried  to  assume  a 
careless  confidence  that  he  did  not  have.  The 
quiet  family  party,  for  any  expression  of  dismay, 
might  have  been  taking  their  seats  at  a  dinner 
table. 

The  jury  was  called  and  the  indictment  read. 
The  lawyers  for  the  defense  and  the  Common- 
wealth examined  their  separate  witnesses.  The 
State's  witnesses  were  the  four  strangers  who 
happened  to  be  at  the  Bolingbroke  Hotel  that  fatal 
night,  and  who  claimed  to  have  seen  the  shooting, 
the  woman  in  whose  miserable  home  Kitty  Nestles 
rented  a  room,  the  human  crows  in  the  rookery, 
a  drunken  loafer  from  whose  cruelty  Robert  Cat- 
lett had  rescued  a  consumptive  wife,  the  charred 
letter,  the  bedroom  slippers  and  a  check  of  Robert 
Catlett's  made  payable  to  the  firm  of  Carlin  & 
Fulton,  and  unhappily  transferred  by  them  to 
Mrs.  Nestles. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  opened  the  argument, 
followed  by  Tinsley  for  the  defense.  Then  Mor- 
decai  Cooke  for  the  Commonwealth  and  Lester 
for  the  defence:  Levi  Funkhouser  would  then 
speak,  followed  by  Turberville.  Stanard's  repu- 
tation demanded  that  he  close  the  defense,  and  the 
Commonwealth's  attorney  would,  of  course,  close 
the  case. 

Tinsley  was  never  more  astute  or  more  logical ; 
he  consumed  the  whole  of  the  first  day:  if  he  had 


312  A  MAN'S  REACH 

been  doing  legal  legerdemain  for  the  despair  of 
the  jury  he  could  not  have  been  less  intelligible  to 
them.  His  reasoning  was  marvellous,  but  abso- 
lutely beyond  the  comprehension  of  the  laity. 

Mordecai  Cooke  made  a  thrilling  series  of  word- 
pictures  :  first  of  a  Christian,  then  of  a  dastardly 
hypocrite,  and  last  of  a  trusting,  desperate  woman. 
His  were  legal  pyrotechnics,  legal  finesse,  and  a  lot 
of  legal  slush:  his  arguments  and  villifications 
consumed  the  morning  of  the  third  day  and  the 
jury  followed  him  with  evident  interest. 

Lester  began  in  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day, 
gave  the  jury  pure  law  till  court  adjourned,  and 
went  over  into  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day. 
Randolph  rejoiced  in  his  reasoning — the  bored 
jury  yawned. 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  fourth  day  Funkhouser 
was  heard :  he  filled  three  hours  with  vulgar  rhap- 
sodies and  followed  the  lead  of  Cooke  in  canon- 
izing a  desperate  woman;  the  tide  of  sympathy 
already  with  Kitty  Nestles  gained  perceptible 
strength.  Funkhouser  played  upon  the  crowd  with 
the  screech  and  blare  of  a  hurdy-gurdy,  made 
capital  of  the  bedroom  slippers,  the  charred  letter 
and  a  check  of  Robert  Catlett's  found  uncashed 
among  Kitty's  things.  He  showed  quite  plainly 
that  it  was  not  unusual,  but  quite  ordinary,  for  a 
minister  to  commit  crime ;  and  cited  two  instances 


A  MAN'S  REACH  313 

in  the  past  year,  where  clergymen  had  first  ruined 
then  murdered  their  victims. 

At  ten  o'clock  of  the  fifth  day  of  the  argument 
in  the  case  of  the  Commonwealth  against  Robert 
Catlett,  Randolph  Turberville  arose,  with  the  con- 
fidence of  a  June  sun,  to  add  his  contribution 
to  the  defense  of  Robert  Catlett.  Immaculate, 
robust,  the  blue  of  his  eye  oriental  sapphire, 
browning  hair  still  shot  with  gold,  the  dents  about 
his  mouth  all  gone  to  purpose,  his  voice  full  and 
round  as  a  well-tuned  'cello — he  immediately 
fastened,  as  if  with  lock  and  key,  the  interest  of 
judge,  jury,  opposing  as  well  as  associate  counsel, 
and  court-room. 

At  first  something  terrific,  strange,  hot,  coursed 
through  and  through  his  being  like  forked  light- 
ning, blinded  his  mental  vision  and  forced  his 
ideas  to  recede  like  an  outgoing  tide :  it  was,  how- 
ever, only  for  a  moment;  then  his  ideas  came 
rushing  back,  full-capped  with  a  subtle  confidence 
— almost  as  audible  as  the  equinoctial  surf. 

"  It  is  with  a  mixture  of  sadness  and  exultation 
that  I  stand  before  you,  my  friends,  to-day.  Sad- 
ness over  the  first  '  rigor '  of  a  sickening  circum- 
stance: exultation,  inexpressible,  over  the  irre- 
futable fact — that  the  thrust  of  the  spear,  the 
stream  of  blood,  the  cry  of  agony,  and  a  dark  and 
trembling  world  opened  the  way  to  a  sun-lit  uni- 
verse in  which  we  work  to-day. 


314  A  MAN'S  BEACH 

"  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  add  a  point  to  the 
law  that  the  other  counsel  have  so  skilfully  ex- 
plained; a  drop  to  the  eloquence  that  has  fallen 
from  their  lips.  Mine  is  but  a  simple  statement  of 
truth  as  I  know  it;  the  revelation  of  a  character 
that  it  has  been  my  privilege  to  consider  from  its 
frank  and  merry  youth,  to  its  sincere  and  conse- 
crated manhood.  I  shall  not  try  to  change  the 
stream  of  evidence,  but  to  '  gain  my  goal  by  going 
with  it.' 

"  We  have  heard  day  after  day  as  we  sat  here, 
the  cry  of  Hypocrite!  Reformer!  Profligate! 
Christian !  I  shall  pass  over  the  first  three  epithets 
for  the  present,  and  only  affirm  that  if  it  is  a 
crime  to  be  a  Christian,  my  friends,  Robert  Catlett 
is — guilty.  With  him  it  is  not  '  I  fast  once  a 
week — I  give  tithes  to  the  poor,'  but  I  love — I 
serve." 

Turberville  caught  Catlett's  eye:  it  called  as  in 
the  old  foot-ball  days — "  Come  on,  Ran — when 
you  are  on  the  team  we  always  beat ! "  Robert 
Catlett,  in  the  distance  of  doubt,  called  Ran  and 
Ran  came. 

William  Pitt  was  once  called  the  "  King  of  the 
Company/'  With  no  vanity,  but  rather  with  a 
strange  humility,  Randolph  felt  himself  so  now. 
The  cruel  suspicion  and  ante-condemnation  that 
had  poisoned  the  court-room  was  lifting,  and  the 


A  MAN'S  REACH  815 

mocking  audience,  perhaps,  more  willing  to  be 
convinced. 

"  Sin  in  the  purple  is  much  more  horrible  than 
sin  in  rags :  and  when  even  the  least  suspicion  falls 
upon  a  confessed  Soldier  of  Christ,  it  is  far  blacker 
than  pitch  upon  a  fleece  of  wool. 

"  Once  many  years  ago — there  was  in  Samaria 
a  well ;  and  by  the  well  was  a  woman.  She  was 
not  a  good  woman,  but  there  was  One  who  longed 
to  make  her  so.  Near  Him  were  twelve  men  who 
asked—'  Why  talkest  Thou  with  her?  '  To-day, 
in  this  city  twelve  times  twelve  are  asking  '  Why 
talkest  thou  with  her  ?  ' 

"  Just  such  a  woman  wiped  His  feet  with  her 
hair :  just  such  a  woman  trembled  at  these  words 
— '  Neither  do  I  condemn  thee,  go,  and  sin  no 
more.'  If  the  woman  of  Samaria  turned  over 
a  new  leaf,  why  not  Kitty  Nestles  ?  It  was  worth 
trying.  And  failing  in  his  efforts  for  rescue, 
Robert  Catlett  was  determined,  if  possible,  to 
deliver  a  modern  Samson  from  the  green  withes 
of  this  modern  Delilah." 

The  audience,  less  sullen,  drew  a  long  breath. 
Randolph  felt  firm  in  the  saddle,  an  exhilarating 
security  took  hold  on  him. 

"  Robert  Catlett  and  I,  barefoot  urchins,  scam- 
pered over  the  red  gulches  and  rocky  hills  of 
Albemarle;  and  the  same  spirit  that  climbed  the 
mountain,  broke  the  headstrong  colt,  and  dug  his 


310  A  MAN'S  REACH 

mother's  flower-beds — bruised  my  young  face  be- 
cause I  cut  in  two  a  harmless  caterpillar.  The 
same  spirit  that  streaked  like  a  flash  through 
Monroe  Park,  threw  rocks  recklessly  and  broke 
Mr.  Caskie's  window — fairly  pulled  another  boy 
from  the  firm  clutch  of  a  '  cop '  and  cried  loudly, 
'  That  boy  didn't  break  the  window,  'twas  m-e-e-e, 
mister.  I'm  awful  sorry,  I  didn't  go  to  do  it; 
my  father  is  Robert  Catlett — lives  in  Albemarle.' 
The  same  spirit  that  burst  forth  in  astonishing 
power  in  the  Holy  Comforter  threatened  its  in- 
fluence by  listening  to  the  wild  heart-beats  of 
Kitty  Nestles — by  talking  with  her. 

"  Robert  Catlett  couldn't  tell  a  lie,  but  he  never 
failed  to  try  to  give  good  reasons  for  his  misde- 
meanors. Once  he  went,  entirely  contrary  to  his 
mother's  orders,  into  the  house  of  a  little  friend 
who  had  whooping  cough,  but  he  explained  his 
action  with  much  satisfaction  to  himself.  *  Billy 
was  lonesome,  mother,  and  I  know  I  didn't  ketch 
it,  'cause  I  kept  behind  his  back.'  Well  do  I  re- 
member Bill-Bob  and  I  seeing  his  favorite  cow 
writhing  and  choking  on  the  sweet  spring  clover. 
Bill-Bob  never  hesitated  a  moment,  but  thrust 
his  little  arm  down  '  Kilo's  '  throat — bringing 
nothing  up  but  '  Kilo's  '  painful  tooth-prints  on 
his  arm.  Soon  the  cry  from  a  servant,  '  You  ain' 
nuvver  ought  to  run  yo'  arm  in  "  Kilo's  "  thote; 
Lucy-cat  done  gone  mad  an'  done  bite  Beppo  dog 


A  MAN'S  REACH  317 

an'  I  seen  Beppo  bite  "  Kilo  "  plum  on  her  bag — 
"  Kilo  "  mad,  dat's  what.'  Such  a  commotion, 
such  a  rush  for  the  madstone  man  who  lived  over 
in  Amherst  County.  But  Bill-Bob  came  out  all 
right." 

The  court-room  laughed,  the  jury  smiled — good 
signs !  Randolph  was  driven  by  something  mys- 
terious, warm,  beautiful:  was  it  Lettice  Corbin 
who  was  putting  glittering  thoughts,  like  winged 
butterflies,  into  his  mind?  Was  it  the  heart  of 
Lettice  calling  to  the  heart  of  Ran?  He  let  go 
law,  and  took  hold  of  love.  Life  had  renewed 
his  blood ;  and  he  was  pouring  it  forth  for  Robert 
Catlett  this  dark  November  day. 

"All  sorts  of  folk  came  to  Robert  Catlett— 
clean  and  unclean  he  talked  with  all,  offered  his 
strong  arm  for  support  and  relief.  He  might  not 
have  been  prudent  in  talking  with  Kitty  Nestles, 
but  he  forgot  the  danger  of  her  disease  in  his 
desire  to  cure  her. 

"  Kitty  Nestles  was  like  an  older  sister  to  Robert 
Catlett.  For  years  she  was  a  daughter  in  his 
Albemarle  home;  Robert  liked  her  merry  ways, 
her  seat  in  the  saddle,  her  trickles  of  laughter 
over  the  quiet  place.  He  never  dreamed  that  Kitty 
could  be  anything  but  good,  until  at  the  University 
she  made  a  prey  of  one  nearer  to  Robert  Catlett 
than  Kitty  Nestles  could  ever  be." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Catlett  flinched  slightly:  Saint 


318  A  MAN'S  REACH 

George  Catlett  moved  his  foot,  the  scrape  of  it 
was  like  the  fall  of  a  prayer-book  at  a  funeral — 
the  court-room  caught  its  breath. 

"  Robert  Catlett,  not  for  one  moment,  spared 
the  rod  of  stern  remonstrance ;  he  wouldn't  stand 
it — but  he  had  to.  He  was  not  the  fellow  to  stop 
because  he  did  not  seem  to  succeed,  and  he  kept 
on  trying  to  restrain  the  sinister  influence  of  his 
foster-sister.  He  endeavored  to  remove  her  prey. 
Robert  Catlett  was  not  going  to  see  any  soul  die 
of  foul  atmosphere,  without  an  effort  to  remove 
it  to  a  purer  air.  His  fight  was  one-sided,  difficult 
in  spite  of  his  energy.  From  the  University  Kitty 
Nestles  removed  herself  to  Bolingbroke ;  here  from 
time  to  time  she  had  all  sorts  of  prey,  but  by 
degrees  each  escaped — all  but  a  single,  belated 
victim. 

"  It  is  this  victim  for  whom  Robert  Catlett  is 
here  to-day."  Randolph  caught  Robert's  eye 
again :  it  said  this  time  "  Don't,  Ran.  Don't !  "  but 
Ran  kept  on.  No  time  for  mincing  matters  now. 

"  After  a  desperate  fight  the  victim  was  re- 
moved far  from  the  clutches  of  the  vampire,  and 
Robert  Catlett's  heart  filled  with  pity  for  the 
woman,  and  he  talked  with  her  once  more.  She 
was  very  poor  and  desolate:  in  a  way  he  could 
help  her. 

"  Years  ago  the  grandfather  of  Robert  Catlett — 
Philip  Cocke — was  a  large  landholder,  and  some 


A  MAN'S  REACH  310 

of  his  possessions  lay  just  outside  of  Bolingbroke. 
Catlett,  by  the  will  of  this  grandfather,  inherited 
a  portion  of  this  land  and  he  sold  it  just  about 
the  time  that  he  removed  Kitty  Nestles's  lover  to 
a  point  of  safety." 

From  the  fair  hair  of  Saint  George  Catlett  to 
his  pointed  chin  a  wave  of  crimson  rushed :  he 
never  dreamed  that  Turberville  would  speak  so 
plainly ;  he  considered  it  cruel,  almost  illegitimate. 
Twelve  stalwart  farmers  very  nearly  winced  as 
they  saw  the  unmistakable  confusion;  each  man 
of  the  twelve  involuntarily  straightened  himself 
— the  defense  had  scored. 

"'Poor  Kitty,'  thought  Robert;  'it  must  be 
terrible  to  go  under  without  a  cent ;  perhaps  if  she 
had  just  enough  for  daily  bread  she  might  be  able 
to  be  a  better  woman,  stronger  to  keep  her  hands 
off  her  prey.'  So  Catlett  took  a  five  thousand- 
dollar  first  mortgage  on  Bolingbroke  real  estate, 
and  arranged  with  the  firm  of  Carlin  &  Fulton 
that  the  six  per  cent,  interest  be  paid  to  Kitty 
Nestles  in  monthly  instalments.  The  transaction 
is  open  to  the  public  and  may  be  examined  by 
any  person  in  this  room.  Catlett  and  Kitty  Nestles 
entered  into  a  solemn  bargain :  the  woman  was  to 
be  rewarded  for  keeping  hands  off. 

"  But  the  transaction  would  not  come  imme- 
diately into  effect,  and  Robert  Catlett,  with 
Christ-like  pity,  sent  his  personal  check  to  Carlin 


320  A  MAN'S  REACH 

&  Fulton;  which  they,  perhaps  unfortunately, 
transferred,  as  it  was,  to  Kitty  Nestles. 

"  Catlett  draws  a  long  breath,  he  can  go  to  his 
work  now,  without  a  personal  sorrow  casting  its 
shadow  between  him  and  his  daily  task.  He  reck- 
oned badly :  Kitty  Nestles,  lonely  in  her  poor  room 
on  Ninth  Street,  repents  of  her  bargain:  she  de- 
termines to  break  her  contract  and  follow  her  prey 
to  Albemarle.  She  well  knows  the  softness  of  at 
least  two  Albemarle  hearts. 

"  But  Kitty's  vision  is  blurred,  she  overesti- 
mates human  endurance.  Although  she  knocks 
at  the  door  of  the  modest  home  in  Albemarle,  it  is 
shut  in  her  face :  there  is  in  that  house  one  nearer 
and  dearer  to  the  mistress  and  master  than  a 
hysterical,  sobbing,  homeless  woman — their  erring 
son."  A  rustle  in  that  court-room  like  wind  in 
the  trees! 

"  Kitty,  in  her  despairing  fury  refused  to  be 
sent  to  the  station  and  stumbled  over  the  red, 
rain-soaked  roads  of  Albemarle.  These  are  the 
witnesses  of  her  agony."  Turberville  removed 
from  a  box  a  pair  of  mud-encrusted  little  boots. 
"  Look  at  her  poor,  well-worn  shoes — emblems  of 
her  scarred,  soiled  life!"  Saint  George's  eyes 
begged  Ran  to  take  them  away.  "  These  high- 
heeled,  patent  leather  shoes,  my  friends,  are 
covered  with  Albemarle  mud,  which  tells  the  way 
that  Kitty  went. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  821 

"  Frantic,  repentant — not  of  her  sins  but  of  her 
promises — she  returned  to  Bolingbroke,  and 
straight  to  the  one  person  in  the  wide  world  who 
she  thought  might  listen.  She  found  pity,  but 
absolute  sincerity.  The  mortgage  on  a  man's  flesh 
was  raised — Kitty  could  claim  nothing  else. 

"  We  have  explained  the  check — these  pathetic 
echoes  of  a  tawdry  life  account  for  the  bedroom 
slippers ;  don't  they  my  friends — don't  they?  Not 
one  thing  condemnatory  for  Mr.  Catlett  in  them !  " 

Randolph  Turberville  quickly  took  in  the  faces 
before  him:  he  was  getting  then* — judge,  jury, 
mocking  audience  and  serious  lawyers — all! 

"  Just  across  Peace  Street  from  the  rectory,  as 
you  all  well  know,  is  the  home  of  Roman  Catholic 
priests;  the  night  that  Kitty  Nestles  passed  from 
a  turbid  life  to  eternity  a  suffering  old  priest  lay 
awake  in  his  bed.  His  room  is  in  the  eastern 
corner  of  the  priests'  house,  directly  opposite  to 
Robert  Catlett's  study.  This  old  priest  saw  Kitty 
enter  the  rectory,  with  a  satchel  in  her  hand,  about 
seven  o'clock :  he  saw  her  go  out  and  return  about 
twelve  o'clock — this  time  to  her  tragic  death. 

"  He  saw  Robert  Catlett  speak  gently  to  her ; 
he  saw  him  very  grave  and  sad ;  he  saw  him  go  to 
Kitty,  pick  up  something,  and  take  it  out  of  the 
room ;  he  saw  him  come  back  and  give  something 
to  Kitty.  What  did  he  take  out?  What  did  he 
bring  in?  Robert  Catlett  took  out  a  pair  of  sop- 

21 


322  A  MAN'S  REACH 

ping  wet,  worn  shoes :  he  brought  back — all  he 
had — a  pair  of  bedroom  slippers.  He  put  the  shoes 
on  the  radiator  in  his  upper  hall — to  dry ;  they  fell 
between  the  radiator  and  the  wall  as  if  to  hide 
their  shame — but  will  anybody  in  this  room  deny 
that  they  are  Catlett's  most  eloquent  witnesses  ?  " 

Randolph  now  picked  up  the  half-burnt  letter, 
of  which  the  prosecution  had  made  such  tremen- 
dous capital. 

"  Twelve  experts  upon  handwriting  have  exam- 
ined this  fragment  of  a  letter.  Nine  say  that  it 
looks  like  Catlett's ;  two  affirm  that  it  is  Catlett's ; 
one  says  that  it  is  not  Catlett's.  That  one  knows 
what  he  is  talking  about ;  I  will  show  you  that  he 
does.  The  post-mark  is  torn  off  the  letter — as  you 
see.  Robert  Catlett  could  never  have  written  such 
a  letter,  or  such  a  fragment  of  a  letter — he  never 
could  have  descended  to  sickly  sentimentality. 
This  letter  is  branded  with  the  same  substance 
that  clung  so  tenaciously  to  the  patent-leather  shoes 
— Albemarle  mud.  Yes,  Kitty  could  have  dropped 
it ;  you  see  I  am  feeling  your  very  thoughts ;  but 
she  didn't.  Why  not?  How  do  I  know  that  she 
did  not?  I  know  because  it  was  picked  up,  by  the 
mistress  of  Redlands  (pretty  reliable  witness — 
eh?)  and  given  to  the  postmistress  at  Cobham  ex- 
actly three  days  before  Kitty  went  to  Albemarle. 
Here's  the  proof!  Read  it!  The  chemical  analysis 


A  MAN'S  REACH  828 

reveals  the  exact  substance  branding  the  letter 
that  branded  the  boots." 

Randolph  swept  back  over  his  quiet  argument 
with  a  burning  brush;  massing  the  color  like  a 
young  Titian. 

The  canvas  glowed  in  that  sombre  court-room, 
every  figure  distinct,  compelling.  One  saw  the 
lust  of  the  flesh,  temptation,  weakness,  beauty, 
youth,  scars,  pallor,  a  splash  of  regret,  greater 
despair — then  coursing  along  the  canvas  like  an 
avenging  sky-rocket — the  ringing  shot. 

"  Kitty  Nestles  on  one  side  of  the  room,  my 
friends,  the  young  rector  heavy-hearted,  bewil- 
dered, pitying  still,  on  the  other. 

'  I  won't  give  him  up !  Take  back  your 
money !  He  belongs  to  me,  I  want  him ! '  The 
woman  hissed." 

Saint  George  was  restless. 

"'Never,  so  long  as  I  can  keep  him  away!' 
Catlett  quietly  answered. 

"  A  cry  of  agony  as  of  some  wild  bird  kept 
from  its  prey.  '  Then  I'll  damn  you,  stop  all  of 
your  good  works.' 

"  'You  can't  do  that.'  Catlett  was  very  quiet 
still. 

"  '  I  can't.'  The  pistol  was  the  answer — the 
end! 

"  Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this — that' he 
lay  down  his  life  for  a  friend. 


324  A  MAN'S  REACH 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  your  Honor,  brothers 
of  the  law,  kind  and  patient  listeners — I  am  done. 
My  case  is  submitted." 

The  clock  struck  four ;  nobody  had  remembered 
dinner  to-day. 

Stanard  arose.  Never  did  even  he,  himself, 
ever  show  greater  nobility,  greater  unselfishness: 
"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  he  said,  "  I  have  nothing 
to  say."  The  Commonwealth's  attorney  stumbled, 
floundered,  soon  stopped. 

The  judge  made  his  charge  to  the  jury — and 
they  filed  out  at  four-thirty  and  returned  at  four- 
thirty-five. 

When  the  prisoner  stood  up  for  their  last  word, 
Saint  George  stood  beside  him.  The  eloquence 
of  his  silent  confession  was  greater  than  the  plead- 
ing of  Randolph  Turberville. 

At  four-thirty-seven,  Robert  Catlett  was  free. 
His  face,  as  he  left  the  court-room,  had  not  re- 
laxed ;  white,  pain-chiselled,  yet  fearless — it  might 
have  been  the  face  of  some  twelfth  century  Floren- 
tine, persecuted  for  a  creed. 

The  memory  of  the  first  moments  were  never 
clear  to  Randolph,  the  smoke  from  the  guns  clung 
to  the  atmosphere.  But  to  his  dying  day  he  never 
forgot  the  face  of  Robert  Catlett,  as  he  clasped 
his  hand ;  or  the  ring  of  Stanard's  voice — "  Ran, 
oh,  Ran!" 


A  MAN'S  REACH  3*5 

He  had  started  home,  but  he  returned  to  the 
steps  of  the  City  Hall. 

"  Ran,"  Stanard's  voice  was  not  altogether 
clear,  "  I  have  been  looking  for  a  partner  for 
thirty  years.  I  want  to  offer  you  full  partnership 
in  my  concern.  Stanard  &  Turberville.  Sounds 
good  to  me." 

He  that  was  dead  is  risen  again. 

Ran  walked  home;  he  wondered  if  the  sun  had 
been  shining  all  day :  he  had  not  noticed  it.  The 
glory  of  a  dying  but  ecstatic  world,  banners  and 
torches,  armies  in  red  and  gold  saluted  him  from 
the  Capitol  Square  to  Monroe  Park.  The  sunset 
hailed  him  from  the  Cathedral  tower,  and  Chattie 
met  him  at  the  door  of  the  little  gray  house  and 
held  his  hand  as  they  walked  in. 


XXIX 

THE  Bolingbroke  newsies  were  yelling — "  E-x- 
T-R-A-A-A-L-E-A-D-E-R-E-R-R-R-R,"  as  they  had  one 
memorable  day  nearly  three  months  ago — but  one 
now  caught,  "  Catlett  free!  Catlett  free!" 
"  Turberville's  effective  pleading,"  etc.  Yet 
Charlotte  and  Randolph  were  talking  as  quietly 
as  if  there  were  no  outside  din.  Randolph  was 
stretched  on  the  couch  at  the  foot  of  his  mother's 
bed,  Chattie  beside  him  in  a  little  rocking-chair. 

"  High  time  for  a  wife,  dear." 

His  mother's  words  entered  the  procession  of 
ideas  marching  through  his  mind,  and  at  once  kept 
step  with  the  rest. 

Of  course  it  was  time,  high  time.  Lettice  had 
been  with  him  all  the  evening  singing  "  Glory 
Hallelujah  "  in  a  clear  treble.  He  felt  as  keenly 
as  if  he  could  touch  it — her  reckless  sincerity,  her 
audacious  affection,  her  rare,  almost  eccentric 
beauty:  he  seemed  to  realize,  as  if  for  the  first 
time,  her  fidelity,  her  heavenly  aspiration.  She 
had  with  wonderful  discretion  retired,  sweetly, 
through  the  weeks  of  Bill-Bob's  necessity — to- 
night she  was  all  here. 

"  Yes,  it  is  time — not  a  moment  to  lose."  Ran- 
dolph jumped  from  the  couch,  went  to  his  mother's 

326 


A  MAN'S  REACH  327 

bed-table  where  stood  an  extension  'phone,  and 
called  "  Randolph  765,"  waited  a  second,  then — 
"  Send  a  taxi  to  120  South  Laurel  to-morrow 
at  five-thirty."  He  hung  up  the  receiver  and 
turning  to  his  mother  smiled.  "  I  don't  mind  get- 
ting up  before  day  for  her." 

"  I  didn't  know  there  was  such  a  train  for 
Lester-Manor."  His  mother  was  getting  excited. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  mumsey — the  old  freight.  Daddy 
and  I  used  to  take  that  for  the  fishing  club — 
remember?  " 

"  I  believe  I  do." 

"  I'll  get  to  Lester-Manor  about  seven-thirty.  I 
shall  wire  for  a  trap  to  meet  me  and  convey  me 
to  Laneville.  I'll  get  to  Laneville,  probably,  be- 
fore twelve.  Oh,  mother."  Ran  took  her  in  his 
arms  and  squeezed  her.  Between  mother  and  son 
there  was  perfect  clarity  at  last.  When  there  is 
sorrow  that  we  can't  speak  about,  affection  and 
confidence  split  upon  it  like  clear  water  upon  a 
frowning  rock.  Not  so  now,  the  love  and  intimacy 
of  mother  and  son  flowed  swiftly  all  the  way 
through. 

Randolph  felt  older,  much  older,  as  he  stood 
with  his  back  to  the  fire;  his  right  hand,  deep 
in  the  pocket  of  his  trousers  fumbling  with  his 
knife  and  a  little  silver  corkscrew;  his  other  hand 
playing  with  some  loose  coin  in  his  left  trouser 
pocket.  The  jingle  made  thought-steps — he  could 


328  A  MAN'S  REACH 

hear  his  mind  marching.  He  was  in  the  Lane- 
ville  library — picturesque,  interesting,  vital — 
where  the  real  conflict  had  begun.  How  very 
far  it  seemed  then  to — now.  What  did  it  ?  What 
helped  him  to  win?  He  had  no  more  desire  to 
play  the  "  cup  "  or  the  "  game  "  than  he  had  to 
spin  a  top  or  ride  a  stick  horse. 

Was  this  he,  himself,  standing  before  his 
mother's  blazing  fire,  square  financially  with  the 
world,  the  hateful  little  debts  of  a  wild  man  on 
his  uppers — paid,  a  comfortable  bank  account, 

his  mother's  respect,  Lettice ?  "  A  blast  tore 

through  his  body  fiercer  than  any  November  gale. 
Passion  held  him,  not  the  sugared  poesy  of  a 
mystic,  but  the  raging  hunger  of  a  man — the 
delicious  heavenly  madness  that  forced  Adam  to 
eat  the  forbidden  fruit.  It  was  nothing  in  the 
world  but  love,  the  same  old,  human-divine  mys- 
tery, that  had  saved  or  ruined  millions,  had  de- 
livered him.  "  Lettice,  I'm  coming  to  you  just 
as  fast  as  I  can,"  to  himself.  Aloud,  "  Oh, 
mother !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  dear  Son-Boy." 

Another  long,  long  pause  then.  "  We  must  pack 
your  things,  dear !  " 

And  looking  down  at  his  trousers  Randolph 
added,  "  These  should  certainly  be  pressed." 

"  Before  to-morrow  morning,  Son-Boy?  How 
on  earth — I  wonder  if  I  could  do  it?" 


A  MAN'S  REACH  329 

"  Maybe  I  could !  "  laughing. 

"  Son-Boy,  I  forgot  to  tell  you — Jeter  has  come 
back." 

"  The  devil,  he  has— a  black  Prodigal!  " 

"  He  used  to  press  your  knickerbockers,  you 
know." 

"  Let's  have  him  up :  I  should  like  to  see  the 
rascal ;  we  have  had  good  times  together — he  and 
I  and  Bill-Bob;  we  liked  his  black  face.  I'll  go 
out  and  whistle,  and  I  bet  he'll  come." 

Soon  Randoph  returned  to  his  mother's  cham- 
ber, followed  by  Jeter — little  changed  from  his 
care- free  unstable  boyhood. 

Jeter  was  inclined  to  be  tantalizingly  voluble, 
and  to  Chattie's  innocent  question :  "  Where  have 
you  been  all  this  time,  Jeter?  "  replied: 

"  In  Paterson,  New  Jersey,  'bout  de  mos' 
onneres  place  for  a  preacher  in  de  world.  I  wuz 
more  a  'zorter  den  a  reg'lar  preacher,  no  how. 
Dis  is  de  way  dem  Paterson  niggers  treat  me.  I 
hadn't  got  no  celery  sence  I  cum  dar  'cep  a  few 
driblets,  an'  I  natchelly  assed  de  whyfo'.  Den 
dey  'low  dat  ef  I  had  lef  whin  I  oughter  lef, 
dey  wouldn'  owe  me  no  celery.  Den  I  up  an* 
'low  dat  dey  owe  me  more'n  a  year  celery;  an' 
what's  mo'  I  wouldn'  lef  one  step  till  dey  pay 
me  my  celery — cent  fer  cent.  Warn't  I  right, 
Marse  Randuff — Miss  Charlotte?" 


380  A  MAN'S  REACH 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  Randolph  could  get 
him  downstairs  with  the  trousers. 

As  Chattie  and  Randolph  packed  his  satchel, 
they  joked  and  giggled  like  happy  children. 

"  Suppose  Mr.  Corbin  won't  let  me  in !  "  Ran- 
dolph was  shaving  and  the  half  of  his  face, 
well  lathered,  gave  him  a  clownish  look. 

"  Of  course,  he  will  be  too  glad,  Son-Boy." 

"  Suppose  they  make  a  barricade  of  Macauley 
Berkeley's  waistcoats ! " 

"  Or  his  pedigree?  " 

"  I  can  match  him  there,  maybe !  " 

"  But  laying  all  joking  aside,  Son-Boy,  I  want 
you  to  tell  Lettice  that  everything  is  ready  for  her, 
and  that  the  house  is  hers  except  for  some  little 
corner  where  I  may,  sometimes,  get  out  of  your 
way." 

"Get  out  of  our  way?  Silly!  Will  you  be 
lonesome  while  I  am  gone,  mumsey?  Hadn't 
you  better  have  Miss  Mary  Nicolson  to  keep  you 
company?  " 

"Mary  Nicolson?"  with  a  proud  smile.  "I 
won't  mind  seeing  Mary — now." 

The  satchel  packed,  they  went  back  to  Char- 
lotte's room.  She  went  to  her  work-table  and  un- 
locking the  top-drawer,  drew  out  a  package  very 
carefully  tied  up.  She  unwrapped  and  unwrapped, 
and  finally  uncovered  a  worn,  leather  ring-case. 


A  MAN'S  REACH  SSI 

Opened — from  its  white  velvet  nest,  a  pigeon 
blood  ruby  flashed  in  a  rim  of  plain  gold. 

"  This  is  for  Lettice,  Son-Boy.  Uncle  Carter 
brought  it  to  mamma  from  India — the  time  he 
took  that  wonderful  voyage  as  a  young  mid- 
shipman. It  always  seemed  too  grand  for  me,  but 
it  just  suits  Lettice." 

Randolph  took  the  rare  gem  and  held  it  under 
the  reading-lamp. 

"  What  does  it  look  like,  Son-Boy?  " 

"Love,  Life,  Blood,  Lettice!  In  the  rich  ex- 
perience of  to-day  she  glows  like  a  ruby  in  a  chain 
of  aquamarines.  She " 

The  bell  rang  viciously,  and  Randolph  putting 
the  ring  in  his  mother's  hand,  ran  down  to  open 
the  door. 

A  messenger  boy  handed  him  a  letter,  by 
special  delivery,  from  Lettice  Corbin: 

LANEVIU.E,  URBANNA, 
Middlesex  County,  Virginia. 

First  and  foremost,  Ran  dear,  I  must  confess  my  sins — 
tell  you  about  the  only  thing  that  you  do  not  know  about 
me.  I  have  been  really  jealous  of  Bill-Bob  in  these  terrible 
anxious  weeks.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  anything  so  absurd — 
so  wicked?  There  has  been  a  horrid  little  tempest  in  my 
heart  because  you  were  thinking  of  Bill-Bob  more  than 
you  were  thinking  of  me.  I  would  not  have  taken  you 
from  him  for  the  world,  but  I  was  hateful  all  the  same. 
I  believe  Bill-Bob  is  going  to  be  cleared  triumphantly,  and 
I  also  believe  that  when  the  trial  is  over,  you  are  going  to 
write  and  say — "  I'm  coming,  Lettice."  But  I  am  going 


382  A  MAN'S  REACH 

to  say  it  first.  I  would  come  to  you,  Ran  dear,  if  it  was 
the  thing  to  do ;  but  as  it  isn't — you  come  to  me  as  fast  as 
you  can.  I  don't  intend  to  do  without  you  a  moment 
longer.  There ! 

Remember  Birdie  Peters,  the  yellow-haired  child  who 
used  to  watch  us  ride  by  so  wistfully?  She  has  been  aw- 
fully sick  and  I  nursed  her  last  night;  and  it  brought  me 
to  my  senses. 

Old  Mr.  Peters  is  blind  and  old  Mrs.  Peters  is  deaf, 
and  when  we  heard  that  Birdie  was  sick,  I  knew  they 
couldn't  nurse  their  grandchild  properly.  Papa  and  mamma 
sent  them  something,  and  well  satisfied  settled  themselves 
to  their  papers  and  knitting. 

It  rained  off  and  on  till  night,  then  a  high  wind  and  a 
cold  white  moon  kept  company.  Laneville  didn't  mind  the 
wind,  the  heavy  curtains  kept  out  the  cold  white  moon, 
but  the  little  child,  in  her  mean  bed  with  her  feeble,  incom- 
petent nurses,  called  me. 

Mamma  and  papa  were  asleep,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  as 
quick  as  a  flash  to  go  to  Birdie  Peters.  I  got  my  rubber 
boots  and  my  big  coat  and  crept  down  and  out.  The  night 
was  wildly  clear,  the  trees  bent  with  a  shout  and  rose  with 
a  yell.  The  sheep  huddled  in  a  corner  of  the  field,  the 
stars  were  as  big  as  moons.  I  was  not  myself,  but  a 
Hamadryad  out  on  a  lark!  The  main  road  greeted  me  in 
white  surprise :  it  was  sand-dough  between  the  stubble- 
fields  and  my  feet  went  in  and  out,  like  spoons  in  a  batter ; 
my  shadow  was  long  and  narrow,  weird  and  witchlike; 
and  an  owl  cried  in  the  thicket  back  of  the  Peters's  house. 

But  I  got  there  all  right:  nursed  Birdie  all  night;  and 
she  led  me  to  see  that  I  couldn't  wait  for  you  any  longer. 
You  need  me  and  I  need  you,  and  we  are  ready  for  each 
other. 

I  stayed  with  Birdie  all  to-day,  and  late  this  afternoon 
I  came  home  with  Doctor  Phil.  You  recollect  Doctor  Phil  ? 
He  was  in  his  gig,  with  his  big  flea-bitten  "  Hog-fish  " — 
what  a  name  for  a  horse!  I  jumped  behind  and  stood  on 


A  MAN'S  REACH  333 

the  bar,  holding  to  Doctor  Phil's  shoulders,  and  we  went 
quickly  home. 

The  bark  of  the  dogs  brought  papa  and  mamma  to  the 
door.  If  I  had  broken  all  of  the  Ten  Commandments  they 
could  not  have  been  more  depressed.  They  led  me  to  my 
room  as  if  I  were  a  criminal. 

I  am  alone  there  now,  calling  you,  calling  you,  as  Birdie 
called  me.  Make  haste!  Make  haste!  You  can't  be  too 
quick.  I  shall  tell  papa  the  first  thing  to-morrow  that 
you  are  coming. 

My  hair  is  all  down  over  my  blue  kimono;  my  fire  is 
glowing  like  a  good  man's  heart ;  I  am  so  warm,  so  glad. 
My  brain  is  full  of  little  sparks,  something  is  dancing 
through  me  like  velvet-wine.  Now  I  am  going  to  say  my 
prayers:  but  first  I  am  going  to  take  hold  of  the  crinkly 
ends  of  my  long  hair,  and  dance  before  the  Lord  as 
Miriam  did,  in  pure  thanksgiving  joy.  I  have  asked  you 
to  come,  and  know  you  are  coming.  I  am  so  happy, 
please  come  quick! 

LETTICE. 


J.     B.     LIPPINCOTT     COMPANY'S 
New     and     Forthcoming     Books 


Peg  Along 


By  GEORGE  L.  WALTON,  M.D.  izmo.  Cloth,  $1.00  net. 
Dr.  Walton's  slogan, ':  Why  Worry,"  swept  the  country. 
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Under  the  Red  Cross  Flag 

At  Home  and  Abroad 

By  MABEL  T.  BOARD  MAN,  Chairman  of  the  National  Relief 

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Foreword  by  PRESIDENT  WOODROW  WILSON. 

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Joseph  Pennell's  Pictures 
In  the  Land  of  Temples 

With  40  plates  in  photogravure  from  lithographs.  Introduction 
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every  promise  that  this  book  will  have  the  same  value 
among  artists  and  book  lovers  as  had  his  others. 
"The  isles  of  Greece,  the  isles  of  Greece! 

Where  burning  Sappho  loved  and  sung," 
have  never  had  a  more  appreciative  and  sympathetic  lover. 

Christmas  Carol 

By  CHARLES  DICKENS.  13  illustrations  in  color  and  many 
in  black  and  white  by  Arthur  Rackham.  Octavo.  Decorated 
cloth.  $1.50  net. 

All  the  praise  that  can  be  showered  upon  Joseph  Pennell 
as  a  master  lithographer,  is  also  the  due  mead  of  Arthur 
Rackham  as  the  most  entrancing  and  mysterious  color 
illustrator  in  Europe.  His  work  is  followed  by  an  army 
of  picture  lovers  of  all  types  and  of  all  ages,  from  the 
children  in  the  nurseries  whose  imagination  he  stirs  with 
the  fiery-eyed  dragons  of  some  fairy  illustration,  to  the 
ambitious  artists  in  every  country  who  look  to  him  as  an 
inspiring  master. 

If  the  decision  had  been  left  to  the  book-reading  and 
picture-loving  public  as  to  the  most  eligible  story  for 
treatment,  we  believe  that  the  Christmas  Carol  would 
have  been  chosen.  The  children  must  see  old  Scrouge 
and  Tiny  Tim  as  Rackham  draws  them. 


Historic  Virginia  Homes 
and  Churches 

By  ROBERT  A.  LANCASTER,  JR.   About  300  Illustrations  and 
a  photogravure  frontispiece.    Quarto.    In  a  box,  cloth,  gilt  top, 
$7.50  net.    Half  morocco,  $12.50  net.    A  Limited  Edition  printed 
from  type,  uniform  with  the  Pennells*  "Our  Philadelphia." 
Virginians  are  justly  proud  of  the  historical  and  archi- 
tectural glories  of  the  Old  Dominion.    All  America  looks 
to  Virginia  as  a  Cradle  of  American  thought  and  culture. 
This  volume  is  a  monument  to  Virginia,  persons  and  places, 
past  and  present.    It  has  been  printed  in  a  limited  edition 
and  the  type  has  been  distributed.    This  is  not  a  volume 
of  padded  value;  it  is  not  a  piece  of  literary  hack-work. 
It  has  been  a  labor  of  love  since  first  undertaken  some 
twenty-five  years  ago.    The  State  has  done  her  part  by 
providing  the  rich  material,  the  Author  his  with  pains- 
taking care  and  loving  diligence,  and  the  Publishers  theirs 
by  expending  all  the  devices  of  the  bookmaker's  art. 

Quaint  and  Historic 
Forts  of  North  America 

By  JOHN  MARTIN  HAMMOND,  Author  of  "  Colonial  Man- 
sions of  Maryland  and  Delaware."  With  photogravure  frontis- 
piece and  sixty-five  illustrations.  Ornamental  cloth,  gilt  top, 
in  a  box.  $5.00  net 

This  is  an  unique  volume  treating  a  phase  of  American 
history  that  has  never  before  been  presented.  Mr.  Ham- 
mond, in  his  excellent  literary  style  with  the  aid  of  a 
splendid  camera,  brings  us  on  a  journey  through  the  exist- 
ing old  forts  of  North  America  and  there  describes  their 
appearances  and  confides  in  us  their  romantic  and  historic 
interest.  We  follow  the  trail  of  the  early  English,  French 
and  Spanish  adventurers,  and  the  soldiers  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, the  War  of  1812  and  the  later  Civil  and  Indian  Wars. 
We  cover  the  entire  country  from  Quebec  and  Nova  Scotia 
to  California  and  Florida,  with  a  side  trip  to  Havana  to 
appreciate  the  weird  romance  of  the  grim  Morro  Castle. 
Here  is  something  new  and  unique. 


A  Wonderful  Story  of  Heroism 

The  Home  of  the  Blizzard 

By  SIR  DOUGLAS  MAWSON.  Two  volumes.  315  remark- 
able photographs.  16  colored  plates,  drawings,  plans,  maps,  etc. 
8vo.  $9.00  net. 

Have  you  heard  Sir  Douglas  lecture?  If  you  have,  you 
will  want  to  read  this  book  that  you  may  become  better 
acquainted  with  his  charming  personality,  and  to  preserve 
in  the  three  hundred  and  fifteen  superb  illustrations  with 
the  glittering  text,  a  permanent  record  of  the  greatest 
battle  that  has  ever  been  waged  against  the  wind,  the 
snow,  the  crevice  ice  and  the  prolonged  darkness  of  over 
two  years  in  Antarctic  lands. 

It  has  been  estimated  by  critics  as  the  most  interesting 
and  the  greatest  account  of  Polar  Exploration.  For  in- 
stance, the  London  Athenaeum,  an  authority,  said:  "No 
polar  book  ever  written  has  surpassed  these  volumes  in 
sustained  interest  or  in  the  variety  of  the  subject  matter." 
It  is  indeed  a  tale  of  pluck,  heroism  and  infinite  endurance 
that  comes  as  a  relief  in  the  face  of  accounts  of  the  same 
qualities  sacrificed  in  Europe  for  a  cause  so  less  worthy. 

To  understand  "courage"  you  must  read  the  author's 
account  of  his  terrific  struggle  alone  in  the  blizzard, — an 
eighty-mile  fight  in  a  hurricane  snow  with  his  two  com- 
panions left  dead  behind  him. 

The  wild  life  in  the  southern  seas  is  multitudinous;  whole 
armies  of  dignified  penguins  were  caught  with  the  camera; 
bluff  old  sea-lions  and  many  a  strange  bird  of  this  new 
continent  were  so  tame  that  they  could  be  easily  ap- 
proached. For  the  first  time  actual  colored  photographs 
bring  to  us  the  flaming  lights  of  the  untrodden  land.  They 
are  unsurpassed  in  any  other  work. 

These  volumes  will  be  a  great  addition  to  your  library; 
whether  larg«i  or  small,  literary  or  scientific,  they  are  an 
inspiration,  a  delight  to  read. 


Heart's  Content 

By  RALPH  HENRY  BARBOUR.  Illustrations  in  color  by 
H.  Weston  Taylor.  Page  Decorations  by  Edward  Stratton  Hollo- 
tray.  Handsome  cloth  binding.  In  sealed  packet.  $1.50  net. 

This  is  the  tale  of  a  summer  love  affair  carried  on  by  an 
unusual  but  altogether  bewitching  lover  in  a  small  summer 
resort  in  New  England.  Allan  Shortland,  a  gentleman, 
a  tramp,  a  poet,  and  withal  the  happiest  of  happy  men, 
is  the  hero;  Beryl  Vernon,  as  pretty  as  the  ripple  of  her 
name,  is  the  heroine.  Two  more  appealing  personalities 
are  seldom  found  within  the  covers  of  a  book.  Fun  and 
plenty  of  it,  romance  and  plenty  of  it, — and  an  end  full 
of  happiness  for  the  characters,  and  to  the  reader  regret 
that  the  story  is  over.  The  illustrations  by  H.  Weston 
Taylor,  the  decorations  by  Edward  Stratton  Holloway  and 
the  tasteful  sealed  package  are  exquisite. 

A  New  Volume  in  THE  STORIES 
ALL  CHILDREN  LOVE  SERIES 


Heidi 


By  JOHANNA  SPYRI.  Translated  by  ELISABETH  P. 
STORK.  Introduction  by  Charles  Wharton  Stork.  With  eight 
illustrations  in  color  by  Maria  L.  Kirk.  8vo.  $1.25  net. 

This  is  the  latest  addition  to  the  Stories  All  Children 
Love  Series.  The  translation  of  the  classic  story  has 
been  accomplished  in  a  marvellously  simple  and  direct 
fashion, — it  is  a  high  example  of  the  translator's  art. 
American  children  should  be  as  familiar  with  it  as  they 
are  with  "Swiss  Family  Robinson,"  and  we  feel  certain 
that  on  Christmas  Day  joy  will  be  brought  to  the 
nurseries  in  which  this  book  is  a  present.  The  illustra- 
tions by  Maria  L.  Kirk  are  of  the  highest  calibre, — the 
color,  freshness  and  fantastic  airiness  present  just  the 
spark  to  kindle  the  imagination  of  the  little  tots. 


HEWLETT'S  GREA  TEST  ff^ORK: 

Romance,  Satire  and  a  German 

The  Little  Iliad 

By  MAURICE  HEWLETT.    Colored  frontispiece  by  Edward 
Burne-Jones.    12010.    $1.35  net. 

A  "Hewlett"  that  you  and  every  one  else  will  enjoy! 
It  combines  the  rich  romance  of  his  earliest  work  with  the 
humor,  freshness  and  gentle  satire  of  his  more  recent. 

The  whimsical,  delightful  novelist  has  dipped  his  pen 
in  the  inkhorn  of  modern  matrimonial  difficulties  and 
brings  it  out  dripping  with  amiable  humor,  delicious  but 
fantastic  conjecture.  Helen  of  Troy  lives  again  in  the 
Twentieth  Century,  but  now  of  Austria;  beautiful,  be- 
witching, love-compelling,  and  with  it  all  married  to  a 
ferocious  German  who  has  drained  the  cup  and  is  now 
squeezing  the  dregs  of  all  that  life  has  to  offer.  He  has 
locomotor  ataxia  but  that  does  not  prevent  his  Neitschean 
will  from  dominating  all  about  him,  nor  does  it  prevent 
Maurice  Hewlett  from  making  him  one  of  the  most  inter- 
esting and  portentous  characters  portrayed  by  the  hand 
of  an  Englishman  in  many  a  day.  Four  brothers  fall  in 
love  with  the  fair  lady, — there  are  amazing  but  happy 
consequences.  The  author  has  treated  an  involved  story 
in  a  delightful,  naive  and  refreshing  manner. 

The  Sea-Hawk 

By  RAPHAEL  SABATINI.    i2mo.    Cloth.    $1.25  net. 

Sabatini  has  startled  the  reading  public  with  this  mag- 
nificent romance!  It  is  a  thrilling  treat  to  find  a  vivid, 
clean-cut  adventure  yarn.  Sincere  in  this,  we  beg  you, 
brothers,  fathers,  husbands  and  comfortable  old  bachelors, 
to  read  this  tale  and  even  to  hand  it  on  to  your  friends  of 
the  fairer  sex,  provided  you  are  certain  that  they  do  not 
mind  the  glint  of  steel  and  the  shrieks  of  dying  captives. 


The  Man  From  the 
Bitter  Roots 

By  CAROLINE  LOCKHART.    3  illustrations  in  color  by  Gayle 
Hoskins.    i2mo.    $1.25  net. 

"Better  than  'Me-Smith'" — that  is  the  word  of  those 
who  have  read  this  story  of  the  powerful,  quiet,  competent 
Bruce  Burt.  You  recall  the  humor  of  "Me-Smith," — 
wait  until  you  read  the  wise  sayings  of  Uncle  Billy  and 
the  weird  characters  of  the  Hinds  Hotel.  You  recall  some 
of  those  flashing  scenes  of  "Me-Smith" — wait  until  you 
read  of  the  blizzard  in  the  Bitter  Roots,  of  Bruce  Burt 
throwing  the  Mexican  wrestling  champion,  of  the  reckless 
feat  of  shooting  the  Roaring  River  with  the  dynamos  upon 
the  rafts,  of  the  day  when  Bruce  Burt  almost  killed  a  man 
who  tried  to  burn  out  his  power  plant, — then  you  will 
know  what  hair-raising  adventures  really  are.  The  tale 
is  dramatic  from  the  first  great  scene  in  that  log  cabin 
in  the  mountains  when  Bruce  Burt  meets  the  murderous 
onslaught  of  his  insane  partner. 

A  Man's  Hearth 

By  ELEANOR  M.  INGRAM.    Illustrated  in  color  by  Edmund 
Frederick,    iimo.    $1.25  net. 

The  key  words  to  all  Miss  Ingram's  stories  are  "fresh- 
ness," "speed"  and  "vigor."  "From  the  Car  Behind" 
was  aptly  termed  "one  continuous  joy  ride."  "A  Man's 
Hearth"  has  all  the  vigor  and  go  of  the  former  story  and 
also  a  heart  interest  that  gives  a  wider  appeal.  A  young 
New  York  millionaire,  at  odds  with  his  family,  finds  his 
solution  in  working  for  and  loving  the  optimistic  nurse- 
maid who  brought  him  from  the  depths  of  trouble  and 
made  for  him  a  hearthstone.  There  are  fascinating  side 
issues  but  this  is  the  essential  story  and  it  is  an  inspiring 
one.  It  will  be  one  of  the  big  books  of  the  winter. 


By  the  author  of  " MARCIA  SCHUYLER" 
"LOf  MICHAEL"  "THE  BEST  MAN"  etc. 

The  Obsession  of  Victoria  Gracen 

By  GRACE  LIVINGSTON  HILL  LUTZ.    Illustrated  in  color. 

1 2 mo.    $1.25  net. 

Every  mother,  every  church-worker,  every  individual 
who  desires  to  bring  added  happiness  into  the  lives  of 
others  should  read  this  book.  A  new  novel  by  the  author 
of  "Marcia  Schuyler"  is  always  a  treat  for  those  of  us 
who  want  clean,  cheerful,  uplifting  fiction  of  the  sort  that 
you  can  read  with  pleasure,  recommend  with  sincerity  and 
remember  with  thankfulness.  This  book  has  the  exact 
touch  desired.  The  story  is  of  the  effect  that  an  orphan 
boy  has  upon  his  lonely  aunt,  his  Aunt  Vic.  Her  obsession 
is  her  love  for  the  lad  and  his  happiness.  There  is  the 
never-failing  fund  of  fun  and  optimism  with  the  high 
religious  purpose  that  appears  in  all  of  Mrs.  Lutz's  excel- 
lent stories. 


Miranda 


By  GRACE  LIVINGSTON  HILL  LUTZ.    Illustrated  in  color 
by  E.  L.  Henry.    i2mo.    $1.25  net. 

Nearly  all  of  us  fell  in  love  with  Miranda  when  she  first 
appeared  in  "Marcia  Schuyler,"  but  those  who  missed 
that  happiness  will  now  find  her  even  more  lovable  in 
this  new  book  of  which  she  is  the  central  figure.  From 
cover  to  cover  it  is  a  tale  of  optimism,  of  courage,  of 
purpose.  You  lay  it  down  with  a  revivified  spirit,  a 
stronger  heart  for  the  struggle  of  this  world,  a  clearer 
hope  for  the  next,  and  a  determination  to  make  yourself 
and  the  people  with  whom  you  come  in  contact  cleaner, 
more  spiritual,  more  reverent  than  ever  before.  It  is 
deeply  religious  in  character :  a  novel  that  will  bring  the 
great  spiritual  truths  of  God,  character  and  attainment 
straight  to  the  heart  of  every  reader. 


11 GRIPPING"  DETECTIVE  TALES 

The  White  Alley 

By  CAROLYN  WELLS.    Frontispiece.    lamo.    $1.25  net. 

FLEMING  STONE,  the  ingenious  American  detective, 
has  become  one  of  the  best  known  characters  in  modern 
fiction.  He  is  the  supreme  wizard  of  crime  detection  in 
the  WHITE  BIRCHES  MYSTERY  told  in,— "THE 
WHITE  ALLEY." 

The  Boston  Transcript  says:  "As  an  incomparable 
solver  of  criminal  enigmas,  Stone  is  in  a  class  by  himself. 
A  tale  which  will  grip  the  attention."  This  is  what 
another  says : — "  Miss  Wells's  suave  and  polished  detective, 
Fleming  Stone,  goes  through  the  task  set  for  him  with 
celerity  and  dispatch.  Miss  Wells's  characteristic  humor 
and  cleverness  mark  the  conversations." — New  York  Times. 

The  Woman  in  the  Car 

By  RICHARD  MARSH.    lamo.    $1.35  net. 

Do  you  like  a  thrilling  tale?  If  so,  read  this  one  and 
we  almost  guarantee  that  you  will  not  stir  from  your  chair 
until  you  turn  the  last  page.  As  the  clock  struck  midnight 
on  one  of  the  most  fashionable  streets  of  London  in  the 
Duchess  of  Ditchling's  handsome  limousine,  ArthurTowzer, 
millionaire  mining  magnate,  is  found  dead  at  the  wheel, 
horribly  mangled.  Yes,  this  is  a  tale  during  the  reading 
of  which  you  will  leave  your  chair  only  to  turn  up  the 
gas.  When  you  are  not  shuddering,  you  are  thinking; 
your  wits  are  balanced  against  the  mind  and  system  of 
the  famous  Scotland  Yard,  the  London  detective  head- 
quarters. The  men  or  women  who  can  solve  the  mystery 
without  reading  the  last  few  pages  will  deserve  a  reward, — 
they  should  apply  for  a  position  upon  the  Pinkerton  force. 


THE  NOVEL  THEY'RE  ALL  TALKING  ABOUT 

The  Rose -Garden  Husband 

By  MARGARET  WIDDEMER.    Illustrated  by  Walter  Biggs. 
Small  i2mo.    $1.00  net. 

"A  Benevolent  Friend  just  saved  me  from  missing  'The 
Rose-Garden  Husband.'  It  is  something  for  thanks- 
giving, so  I  send  thanks  to  you  and  the  author.  The 
story  is  now  cut  out  and  stitched  and  in  my  collection 
of  'worth-while*  stories,  in  a  portfolio  that  holds  only 
the  choicest  stories  from  many  magazines.  There  is  a 
healthy  tone  in  this  that  puts  it  above  most  of  these 
choice  ones.  And  a  smoothness  of  action,  a  reality  of 
motive  and  speech  that  comforts  the  soul  of  a  veteran 
reviewer."  From  a  Letter  to  the  Publishers. 

Edition  after  edition  of  this  novel  has  been  sold,  surely 
you  are  not  going  to  miss  it.  It  is  going  the  circle  of  family 
after  family, — every  one  likes  it.  The  New  York  Times, 
a  paper  that  knows,  calls  it  "a  sparkling,  rippling  little 
tale."  Order  it  now, — the  cost  is  but  one  dollar. 

The  Diary  of  a  Beauty 

By  MOLLY  ELLIOT  SEAWELL.   Illustrated  by  William  Dorr 
Steele.    121110.   $1.25  net. 

From  the  assistant  postmistress  in  a  small  New  England 
village  to  the  owner  of  a  great  mansion  on  Fifth  Avenue 
is  the  story  told  not  as  outsiders  saw  it,  but  as  the  beau- 
tiful heroine  experiences  it, — an  account  so  naive,  so 
deliciously  cunning,  so  true,  that  the  reader  turns  page 
after  page  with  an  inner  feeling  of  absolute  satisfaction. 

The  Dusty  Road 

By  THERESE  TYLER.    Frontispiece  by  H.  Weston  Taylor. 
12010.    $1.25  net. 

This  is  a  remarkable  story  of  depth  and  power, — the 
struggle  of  Elizabeth  Anderson  to  clear  herself  of  her 
sordid  surroundings.  Such  books  are  not  written  every 
day,  nor  every  year,  nor  every  ten  years.  It  is  stimulating 
to  a  higher,  truer  life. 


RECENT  VALUABLE  PUBLICATIONS 

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Furniture 

Treating  of  English  Period  Furniture,  and  American  Furniture 
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typical  French  Periods. 

By  HAROLD  DONALDSON  EBERLEIN  and  ABBOTT  Mc- 
CLURE.  With  225  illustrations  in  color,  doubletone  and  line. 
Octavo.  Handsomely  decorated  cloth.  In  a  box.  $5.00  net. 

This  book  places  at  the  disposal  of  the  general  reader  all 
the  information  he  may  need  in  order  to  identify  and  clas- 
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or  a  reproduction.  The  authors  have  greatly  increased 
the  value  of  the  work  by  adding  an  illustrated  chrono- 
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the  difference  of  detail  between  the  various  related 
periods.  One  cannot  fail  to  find  the  book  absorbingly 
interesting  as  well  as  most  useful. 

The  Practical  Book  of  Oriental  Rugs 

By  DR.  G.  GRIFFIN  LEWIS,  Author  of  "  The  Mystery  of  the 
Oriental  Rug."  New  Edition,  revised  and  enlarged.  20  full- 
page  illustrations  in  full  color.  93  illustrations  in  doubletone. 
70  designs  in  line.  Folding  chart  of  rug  characteristics  and  a 
map  of  the  Orient.  Octavo.  Handsomely  bound.  In  a  box. 
$5.00  net. 

Have  you  ever  wished  to  be  able  to  judge,  understand, 
and  appreciate  the  characteristics  of  those  gems  of  Eastern 
looms?  This  is  the  book  that  you  have  been  waiting  for, 
as  all  that  one  needs  to  know  about  oriental  rugs  is  pre- 
sented to  the  reader  in  a  most  engaging  manner  with  illus- 
trations that  almost  belie  description.  "From  cover  to 
cover  it  is  packed  with  detailed  information  compactly 
and  conveniently  arranged  for  ready  reference.  Many 
people  who  are  interested  in  the  beautiful  fabrics  of  which 
the  author  treats  have  long  wished  for  such  a  book  as 
this  and  will  be  grateful  to  G.  Griffin  Lewis  for  writing  it." 
— The  Dial. 


The  Practical  Book  of  Outdoor 

NEW  EDITION 
REVISED  AND  ENLARGED 

By  GEORGE  C.  THOMAS,  JR.  Elaborately  illustrated  with 
96  perfect  photographic  reproductions  in  full  color  of  all  varieties 
of  roses  and  a  few  half  tone  plates.  Octavo.  Handsome  cloth 
binding,  in  a  slip  case.  $4.00  net. 

This  work  has  caused  a  sensation  among  rose  growers, 
amateurs  and  professionals.  In  the  most  practical  and 
easily  understood  way  the  reader  is  told  just  how  to  propa- 
gate roses  by  the  three  principal  methods  of  cutting, 
budding  and  grafting.  There  are  a  number  of  pages  in 
which  the  complete  list  of  the  best  roses  for  our  climate 
with  their  characteristics  are  presented.  One  prominent 
rose  grower  said  that  these  pages  were  worth  their  weight 
in  gold  to  him.  The  official  bulletin  of  the  Garden  Club 
of  America  said: — "It  is  a  book  one  must  have."  It  is 
in  fact  in  every  sense  practical,  stimulating,  and  suggestive. 

The  Practical  Book  of  Garden 
Architecture 

By  PHEBE  WESTCOTT  HUMPHREYS.  Frontispiece  in  color 
and  125  illustrations  from  actual  examples  of  garden  archi- 
tecture and  house  surroundings.  Octavo.  In  a  box.  $5.00  net. 

This  beautiful  volume  has  been  prepared  from  the 
standpoints  of  eminent  practicability,  the  best  taste,  and 
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Our  Philadelphia 

By  ELIZABETH  ROBINS  PENNELL.  Illustrated  by  Joseph 
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Life  of  James  McNeill  Whistler 

By  ELIZABETH  ROBINS  and  JOSEPH  PENNELL.  Thor- 
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TT    •  J  •     By  JOHANNA  SPYRI. 
rleidl    Translated  by  Elisabeth  P.  Stork. 

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The  Swiss  Family  Robinson  G. 'E^MITTON. 
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